


How to Be a Good Boy: A Guide for the Novice Werewolf

by HigherMagic



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Bottom Will Graham, Dark Will Graham, Dogs, Established Relationship, Established Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, M/M, Murder Husbands, Top Hannibal Lecter, Werewolf Will Graham, Werewolf!Will, Werewolves, Will Graham Knows, Will Graham is a Cannibal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 03:55:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 72,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14300223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HigherMagic/pseuds/HigherMagic
Summary: Will gets scratched by a strange dog during the full moon.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write more werewolf!Will but also a more light-hearted werewolf story. What better combination than murder husbands and the "wait, werewolves are real?" trope. :D

Will opens his front door, letting out a sharp whistle to summon his dogs back into the house. They come quickly, tails wagging, various degrees of dirty and muddy. He sighs, absently petting them as they pass him. Then, he frowns.

"Buster!" he calls, whistling again. "Winston!" He doesn't see either of them. With a frustrated growl, he closes the door and puts on his boots and dons his jacket. "Stay," he tells the others. They've already found their spots by the fireplace, ready to bed down for the night.

He takes a flashlight and heads back outside. The cold front has broken, and the day had been warm and sunny, melting away the last of the snow and promising April showers that herald the late arrival of spring. As a result, the ground is muddy, and Will treads carefully, cursing under his breath as he walks down the driveway.

He whistles again through his teeth and clicks his tongue as he nears the edge of the trees on the other side of the road where his driveway ends. "Buster!" he calls, louder. "Winston!" He huffs. Winston tends to wander, but he always stays within earshot.

He hears movement in the trees and lifts his flashlight in time to see Buster coming out. He's limping, whimpering loudly, and Will kneels down and cups the dog's head, frowning when he sees blood on the animal's foreleg, and a nasty-looking bite.

He sighs. "Did you try to pee on him again?" he mutters. Damn small dogs and their Napoleon complexes. Buster whines and licks his hands. "C'mon, buddy. Let's get you back inside." He hauls the small dog into his arms and carries him back to the house. Buster curls up in his arms, his tail tucked and his ears flat. He doesn't stop whining until Will gets him inside.

He sets the dog down and gets a bowl of warm water, then cleans his foreleg. The bite looked a lot worse than it is, and he's sure it'll heal up just fine. He sighs and scratches Buster behind the ears. "Get some rest, buddy," he tells him, and stands again, dumping the bowl of pink water out.

He goes back outside and puts his fingers to his lips, whistling one more time. The sharp sound echoes in the barren field, and he tilts his head to listen, but doesn't hear any more movement or barking signaling that Winston has heard him. "Winston!" he yells, holding up the flashlight for any sign of the dog. None come, and Will shakes his head, and puts out a food bowl with some kibble in the hopes of luring him back. Addy is a watchful dog at night and she'll let him know if Winston returns.

It's too dark to look for him right now, so Will tries to stymy his worry as he heads to bed. The last time Winston had run away had been the first night Will spent in Baltimore, and he hadn't returned until noon the next morning. But Winston always comes back.

 

 

He wakes in the middle of the night to Addy barking loudly. She jumps on his bed and licks his face, whining, and Will sputters and pushes her away. "What is it?" he mutters, wiping at his face. She barks again, her ears pricked forward and her tail wagging. "Alright, alright."

He gets up and sees that the other dogs are also awake, sitting in a semi-circle around the door. They're growling at it, and Will frowns. He clicks on the porch light and peers outside.

He sees the shape of something…dog-like. He doesn't imagine it's anything other than a dog, but it's definitely not Winston. There are bloody paw prints on his porch, and Will hums, putting his boots back on.

He opens the door and shines his flashlight on the animal's back. Its fur is dark and slick like it's been running through water, Will can see blood on its front paws. It's eating the food he left out and Will sighs, shutting the door.

"Hey now," he says, approaching the animal. It doesn't look like any breed of dog Will has ever seen before. It's large and slender but thickly furred, sharp ears like a Doberman but with the hair of a fluffy German Shepherd. He clicks his tongue and the animal snarls, lifting its head.

There's blood and foam at its mouth, and Will hesitates. The thing might be rabid. He presses his lips together and crouches down. "You're alright," he says, making his voice soft and soothing. He can see a collar around the dog's neck. "You belong to someone? How'd you get all the way out here?"

The dog growls at him, ears going flat, and lunges forward. Will straightens and steps back, but not fast enough to avoid the animal's foreleg as it swipes at him. He grunts as the dog's claws find his thigh, scratching deep, splitting skin.

The animal snarls at him again, and then turns tail and flees. "Hey!" Will yells. He whistles, but the dog doesn't stop. He huffs. "Son of a bitch."

He looks down at his leg. Three deep, long furrows are left, the claws split straight through his pajama pants and they sting. He presses his hand against the wound and hisses, his fingers coming back bloody. "Great," he mutters, and makes his way back inside, grunting whenever he puts weight on his injured leg.

Buster whines at him and Addy sits at the table, her head low as Will sits down and pulls his pants to his knees, hissing in pain when the movement makes the wounds sting. It isn't the first time he's been bitten or scratched by a dog, but it always hurts just as bad.

Addy leans in, licking at his wound, and Will pushes her head away. "No," he says. "Go back to bed, all of you."

They obey, and Will pulls his pants off, walking unsteadily to the kitchen to get another bowl of warm water. He cleans the wound as best he can, and then sits back down at his lure station. Thankfully, string and sewing implements are never far away.

He runs a lighter over a fishing hook and wraps a string around the end of it, gritting his teeth as he sits back and knots the other end of the string. He digs the hook into the side of the largest slash. Fresh blood wells up and Will takes in a deep breath, gritting his teeth, and works the hook between the edges of his skin, threading it through and pulling tight. He closes all three scratches and wraps his leg with bandages.

The stitches aren't pretty and he's sure the scratches will leave a scar. One of many.

 

 

The next morning, he wakes up at the sound of something scratching the door. He sighs, pushing himself to his feet, wincing as his thigh aches sharply. He takes two Ibuprofen and peels back his bandages, wincing at the dark bruising and angry red lines marked by dark stitches. Definitely not some of his best work.

He rewraps the bandage and gets to his feet, limping down the stairs and to the front door. There's a silhouette there and Will raises his eyebrows, grabbing his robe from the back of his chair and going to the door.

It's Hannibal. He has Winston by the scruff of his neck, the dog's tail wagging wildly and Hannibal holds him like he's trying to keep Winston from rushing Will. Will huffs, smiling. "Where did you find him?" he asks, nodding to Winston.

"He was in the front yard," Hannibal replies, letting Winston go so he can rejoin his brothers and sisters.

"Nice of him to show up," Will mutters, and stands back. "Come in."

Hannibal smiles at him, following Will inside. "I brought breakfast," he says, and Will nods, taking a seat at his front table. Hannibal follows suit, his sharp eyes looking Will up and down as Will sits, hissing in discomfort. His eyes land on the bandage around Will's thigh. "What happened here?"

"Dog scratched me," Will says. "Got me pretty good."

Hannibal raises his eyebrows. "One of yours?" he says, and looks to the other animals.

Will shakes his head. "Winston was out last night, I tried calling for him, but he was too far away, I guess. I left food out and woke up when another dog came to claim it. It didn't seem interested in making friends."

"Your animal husbandry skills must be fading," Hannibal says with a tight smile. "Are you alright?"

"Nothing some sub-par stitches and a lot of painkillers won't fix."

Hannibal hums. He takes out a Tupperware container from his bag and offers it to Will, who takes it. He retrieves a second and pops the lid and hands Will a fork. "You should get yourself tested," he says. "The animal could have been diseased."

"It's on my to-do list," Will replies, opening the container. It's an egg scramble, with sausage pieces and red and green onions. "Smells good."

Hannibal smiles. "I feel compelled to cite this as another reason that you should move in with me."

Will huffs. "Where would all the dogs fit in your fancy house?" he replies with a smile.

"We could find homes for them," Hannibal replies. Will fights the urge to roll his eyes – he's not in a mood to fight, and they've had this argument countless times. "I'm sure under your care they're more than acceptable for society. We could build a kennel in the yard for your favorites."

"Would you ask me to choose favorites?" Will replies, taking a bite of the scramble. "That would be like asking you to throw out every musical score except your favorite. Or to only eat one kind of food for the rest of your life."

"I've never tried dog."

Will huffs. "You're persistent, I'll give you that."

"I have to be," Hannibal replies with a smile. "Otherwise you would have never agreed to our first date."

Will rolls his eyes, unable to stop his fond smile. "Keep trying, Doctor Lecter," he teases. Then he nods to the manila folder peeking out of Hannibal's bag. "New case?"

Hannibal hums. "Perhaps I should tell Jack that you're indisposed," he says. "You should keep weight off your leg."

"I can deal."

Hannibal smiles at him, then reaches down to pull out the folder. "Not a Ripper investigation, thankfully."

"Oh, good," Will replies mildly. "I was starting to get bored."

"Careful, darling," Hannibal says, handing him the folder. "When it comes to entertaining you, I need very little encouragement to be inspired."

Will rolls his eyes, but takes the folder and opens it next to his food. He had first met Hannibal while working a case, and known immediately that Hannibal is the kind of person that sees the world differently than other people. Hannibal had invited him to dinner. Then lunch. Then coffee. Will had refused every time, not wanting to mix business with pleasure. Except for the fact that Hannibal's company is so incredibly pleasant.

It hadn't taken him long to figure out the correlation between their dates and Ripper murders. It's hard not to fall in love with a man who will literally kill for you, and creates such masterpieces out of his prey. With every kill, every tableau, and every meal Will eats from Hannibal's table, he can feel how much Hannibal loves him.

Will's eyes flash up to meet Hannibal's, and then drop back to the case file. "What am I looking at, here?" he asks, frowning. There are no crime scene photos, just DMV records and what looks like missing persons reports. "No bodies?"

"Not yet," Hannibal replies.

"Why is Jack interested in this case?" Will asks.

"I imagine he hopes you'll see a pattern."

Will hums, before he sets his fork down and sighs, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. His thigh aches terribly and despite the painkillers, he feels a headache coming on. The words start to blur on the pages and he closes the folder. "Sorry," he mutters. "I didn't sleep well last night."

Hannibal nods, accepting, but his eyes shine with concern. "Let me take you to the hospital," he says, reaching out and touching Will's knee where the bandages end. "For my own peace of mind."

Will huffs, managing a tight smile. "Alright."

 

 

Will knows most of the common diseases people can get from dogs and cats. He had to learn once he started the habit of adopting strays, and makes sure to screen his animals thoroughly whenever he gets a new one, and treats them for tics and lice. But that other dog hadn't been screened, and the foaming at the mouth suggests rabies – for which, thankfully, there is a cure. He doesn't know much about the details.

Hannibal drives him to the hospital after Will gets dressed, and Will settles down in the waiting room. His head is pounding, and he resists the urge to take more painkillers, knowing it won't help the tests if he does. Hannibal sits next to him in silence and Will closes his eyes.

He listens to the calls coming over the announcer, the repeating loop for Obamacare and Insurance advertisements, the coughs and groans of people much sicker than he is within the rest of the waiting room. There's a man cradling an ice pack to his head sitting across from him, a girl on her phone and holding her grandmother's hand as the old woman coughs and rants about millennials.

Will sighs and opens his eyes again. "I hate hospitals," he murmurs.

Hannibal smiles. "I know."

"Can't you just write me a prescription for an all-out antibacterial? I'm sure that'll kill whatever I might have caught."

"Now, Will, you know I like to be certain. I wouldn't want to prescribe you the wrong medication."

Will huffs. "Well, might as well be useful while I'm here," he says. "Give me the file."

Hannibal hands it to him and Will opens it on his lap, blinking once before he rubs a hand over his eyes again like he's trying to get them to focus. Hannibal frowns, his fingers curling like he's fighting the urge to put his hand to Will's forehead.

"All of these people were abducted at different times of the month, from different locations. Different ethnicities, different social and economic backgrounds." Will frowns, sighing. "The only thing they have in common is that they have nothing in common."

"It's certainly an interesting puzzle," Hannibal says lightly.

"Mister Graham?"

Will looks up to see a nurse standing with a clipboard, scanning the room. She's a small, dark-skinned woman with a purple scarf around her head the same color as her scrubs. Hannibal stands and helps Will to his feet, taking the file back from him.

She smiles at them as they approach. "This way, please," she says, and leads them through the double doors to the examination rooms. Will winces, the scents of hand sanitizer, bleach, and plastic hitting him all at once. He feels nauseous and his headache doesn't seem to be going away any time soon.

The nurse leads them to a curtained-off section of the hallway and pulls the curtain back, revealing a single bed, a little desk with a computer on it, a wheelie chair, and an unused IV bag hanger. "Sit," she says, gesturing to the bed, and Will does so immediately. "The doctor will be in in a moment."

She closes the curtain and leaves and Will huffs, folding his hands together in his lap and swinging his heels, his shoulders curled forward.

Hannibal stands at the end of the bed, quiet and patient. Will looks up at him and Hannibal meets his eyes and offers him an encouraging smile. "I really, really hate hospitals," Will murmurs.

"I know," Hannibal says. He reaches out to put a hand to Will's shoulder, squeezing the tense muscle gently. Will's eyes close and he sighs, bowing his head to give Hannibal more room. "I'll be sure to reward you for good behavior."

Will huffs, smirking. "Damn straight," he mutters.

Hannibal pulls his hand back when they hear footsteps approaching, and the curtain withdraws to reveal a tall, white-coated man, with thinning ginger-brown hair, glasses shielding bright blue eyes, and a beard. He stops, looking between Hannibal and Will with something like shock.

"Doctor Sutcliffe," Hannibal greets mildly. After a moment he holds out his hand and the doctor shakes it. "This is a surprise."

"Called in on my day off to help out the E.R.," Doctor Sutcliffe replies with a genial smile. "No rest for the wicked." His eyes go to Will and Will offers him a smile, shaking his head. "What happened here?"

"A dog scratched me," Will says, patting his thigh. "Got me pretty good. Just wanted to make sure it wasn't rabies or something like that."

Doctor Sutcliffe raises his eyebrows, before he nods and writes it down on Will's chart. "Alright," he says. "We'll do some routine tests, draw some blood. When did this happen?"

"Last night," Will replies.

Doctor Sutcliffe hums, pulling out a blood pressure cuff from underneath the computer and unwrapping it. Will shrugs off his coat and rolls up his sleeve to give the man room. "Don't waste any time, do you?"

Will smiles.

"Have you been experiencing any dizziness, nausea, anything else?" he asks as he tightens the cuff around Will's arm, until it starts to get uncomfortable, then painful. He puts the earpieces of his stethoscope in his ears and places the diaphragm in the inner part of Will's elbow, slowly releasing the pressure. Will waits until he's done to reply.

"Had a pretty bad headache all morning," Will replies. "But I'm prone to migraines."

Doctor Sutcliffe nods, noting that down. "If it doesn't go away in its usual timeframe, or you notice them happening more frequently, it may be an indication of an infection," he says, and Will nods. Doctors have been warning him about his migraines his entire life. "Did you notice if the animal looked healthy?"

"It was foaming at the mouth," Will replies. He feels Hannibal stiffen next to him and swallows harshly. "But it didn't bite me. Just scratched me. Didn't notice any mange. The dog looks healthy enough. It had a collar."

"So, it wasn't an animal you own?" Doctor Sutcliffe asks.

Will shakes his head.

"Alright." Doctor Sutcliffe peeks his head out of the curtain and calls the nurse back. "Nurse Meadows here will take you for some blood samples. We'll run some tests."

"Thanks," Will says, pushing himself to his feet. He follows the nurse as she directs him down the hall.

"Sir, you'll have to wait in the lounge," she says, and Will turns to see that Hannibal was going to follow him. Hannibal looks like he's about to argue, and Will meets his eyes and gives him a small shake of his head. Hannibal deflates, and nods.

Will smiles. Honestly, he's so protective. He follows Nurse Meadows to another room and sits when she tells him to, holding out his arm as she fastens an elastic band under his shoulder. "I've taken some Ibuprofen this morning, and eaten protein. No carbs."

"You're a veteran, I take it?"

Will huffs, offering her a tight smile. "You could say that."

"So, dog bite, huh?" she asks.

Will nods. He watches as she preps a syringe and a vial for blood. "Well, a scratch."

She hums, and gives him a teasing smile. "Better be careful," she says. "It was a full moon last night."

Will laughs. "That'd be a trick," he says, biting his lower lip as she sticks the needle into his vein and blood starts to pour steadily into the vial. He has always been somewhat fascinated by the darkness of blood when it first leaves the body. When deprived of oxygen, it looks almost black.

"Call us if you get an urge to howl at the moon," she says, smiling, and Will huffs as the vial is filled. She pulls it off and caps it, setting it to one side, and places a second.

"I don't think it'll be rabies," Will says. "But you should screen for ehrlichiosis. Or ringworm. Maybe giardia."

"You certainly know your animal diseases," she says, impressed. She takes the second vial and caps it, setting it down, and then removes the needle and places a small piece of gauze and some medical tape over the needle mark. She removes the elastic and Will flexes his hands, cracking his wrist.

"I own a lot of dogs," Will replies, pulling his sleeve down and offering her a tight smile.

"Well, I'm sure you're fine. And if you're not, bacterial infections are easy to treat." Will nods, pushing himself to his feet, wincing at the sharp ache in his leg when he puts weight on it. "Should I come get your friend to help you out?"

"Thank you, I'm fine," Will replies. He puts his coat back on and tries to walk as steadily and quickly as he can, eager to be out of the hospital as soon as possible. Hannibal is standing just outside the door and Will huffs, putting his hands in his pockets, and walks next to Hannibal as they leave.

"I can see if I can convince Doctor Sutcliffe to push your tests to the front of the line," Hannibal says.

"Now, Doctor Lecter, you're supposed to use your power for good," Will replies. "Don't abuse it."

Hannibal smiles. "I'll try to control myself."

"Good," Will replies. Then, he sighs. "I'm starving."

Hannibal looks at him, eyebrows rising. "You just ate," he says, and Will shrugs.

"Low blood sugar?"

Hannibal nods, accepting that. "There's some leftover roast in my fridge. We can have lunch at my home, if you're willing."

Will smiles. "You always act like you need to trick me into spending time with you," he teases. He walks to Hannibal's car and Hannibal gets in. Will's journey to the passenger seat is a little less graceful, but he manages, hissing at the pain his leg. "Was this the tax accountant? Or the dentist?"

"The rude restaurant customer."

"Oh, perfect!" Will replies, sitting back and closing his eyes against the bright mid-morning sunshine. "I could use some poetic justice."

 

 

Will eats a full plate of the roast, with mashed potatoes and asparagus when Hannibal serves it to him. He's still hungry, but refrains from asking for more. It would be impolite to eat Hannibal out of house and home.

"Maybe I should get a walking stick," he says, kneading gently at the top of his bandages where the dog didn't scratch him, but the bruising aches. "Trailing around the university all day doesn't sound fun."

"Again, I'd advise that you call in sick. You should be resting."

"I don't want to rest," Will replies. "I feel…restless. Full of energy."

Hannibal cocks his head to one side.

"The nurse said something funny to me," Will says. He takes a long drink of the ice water Hannibal gave him; 'You shouldn't mix blood loss with wine, darling'. "She said I should watch out, because it was a full moon last night." He laughs.

Hannibal huffs, smiling. "Like a werewolf?" he asks, and shakes his head fondly. "Well, you certainly fit the stereotype," he says, and Will blinks at him, frowning. "Loner, pack of dogs, scruffy."

"You like my scruff," Will replies accusingly.

"I like a lot of things about you," Hannibal says with a nod. "Scruff and all."

Will grins at him.

Hannibal clears his throat, setting his knife and fork down. Will swallows, eyeing his unfinished plate. "Unfortunately, I have an appointment in a little while, so I must go," he says. Will sighs, nodding. "You are more than welcome to stay here, or I can give you money for a cab."

"I'll stay," Will replies. "Look over the case file. Will you be back by three?"

"I should be."

"I have a lecture at four. Can you drive me there?"

"If I'm delayed, I'll let you know," Hannibal says. He stands, and circles the table, putting a hand in Will's hair and kissing the top of his head. Then, after a moment, he slides his plate over to Will with a knowing, indulgent smile. "Get some rest."

Will smiles up at him and reaches out, cupping Hannibal's cheek and pulling him down for a proper kiss. "See you soon," he says. Then, teasing; "I'll try not to shed everywhere."

Hannibal rolls his eyes, shaking his head. "Alright," he says. He takes his jacket from the back of his chair and puts it on, checking his pockets for his keys and wallet. "I'll be back soon. Be good."

He leaves the room, and Will watches him go. He tries to ignore the sudden spike of heat that had hit him at Hannibal's words. 'Be good'. He looks down at Hannibal's unfinished plate, that warm feeling turning abruptly to hunger, and digs in readily. He cleans the plate, stacks it over his own, and brings them with the knives and forks to Hannibal's sink.

Hannibal had left the case file on the kitchen counter, and Will sighs, pours himself another glass of water, and takes it to the dining room table.


	2. Chapter 2

The air is crisp and fresh, a light breeze tousling Will's hair and bringing with it the promise of rain. Will sighs, tilting his head up to the sun, on his knees in the muddy ground. He perks up, turning his head when he hears the door to Hannibal's porch slide open.

"…Will?" Hannibal asks, frowning when Will meets his gaze.

Will smiles, elated beyond measure at seeing Hannibal. He pushes himself to his feet, hissing at the sharp pain in his leg, and Hannibal approaches. "You're home," he says. His fingers curl and he looks down at his hands, where they are pink and covered in dirt.

"What are you doing?" Hannibal asks, looking down at the deep furrows Will has made in his yard.

Will looks down at it, and then frowns. He licks his lips. "Um. Digging?" he asks.

Hannibal regards him like Will has just told him the setup for a joke and he's waiting for the punch line. "Digging," he repeats.

Will nods. "I, ah… Yeah," he says. His eyes snap to Hannibal's. "I should have asked permission first. I'm sorry."

"You shouldn't be putting weight on your leg," Hannibal says, scolding. Will ducks his head and bites his lower lip. "What were you digging for?"

"I wanted to map out a foundation," Will replies, shifting his weight. His thigh aches and he hums, rubbing the top of his leg. "For a kennel."

Hannibal cocks his head to one side, his eyes brightening. "A kennel?" he asks.

Will nods.

"This is a very sudden change of heart," Hannibal says. "Not unwelcome."

"I made a mess," Will says, looking down at his hands again. "I'm sorry."

"Come inside," Hannibal murmurs, reaching out and putting a hand on Will's shoulder. Will feels a very sudden urge to rub his forehead against Hannibal's hand, seeking more touch. He doesn't have time to think about it before he loses the fight with the urge and he steps forward, pushing his sweaty forehead against Hannibal's neck, his muddy hands flattening on Hannibal's chest.

"You were gone a long time," Will murmurs, his voice soft and hurt. Why is he upset? He's not upset. Hannibal is _home_ , he's _here_ , and he smells amazing – is that a new cologne? Will should ask. He presses a kiss to Hannibal's neck and Hannibal shivers, his fingers threading through Will's fluffy hair. "I missed you."

"I'm sorry, I was running late," Hannibal replies. "I texted you. It's past four, Will."

Four. That should be significant. Will huffs. "You missed your lecture," Hannibal prompts.

"Crap," Will mutters. "I must have lost track of time."

Hannibal's fingers tighten in his hair and Will whines when he tugs, forcing Will's head back so he can meet his eyes. Hannibal is frowning, and puts the back of his hand on Will's forehead. Will wants to lick his palm, which is…weird. Something he has definitely not felt the urge to do before. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine," Will says, sighing. He runs a dirty hand through his hair and doesn't miss how Hannibal's eyes flash with disapproval. He shakes his head again and starts towards the house, growling at the pain in his leg.

"Will, you're bleeding," Hannibal murmurs, halting Will and putting his hands on Will's shoulders so he can see. Will looks down, biting his lower lip when he sees that, indeed, the material of his jeans is red with blood. "Come inside. Let me have a look at your wound."

Will nods, swallowing harshly as Hannibal helps him into the kitchen and sits him down on a barstool. "Stay right there," Hannibal says, and leaves the room. Will jogs his good leg up and down, kneading at his thighs. He can hear Hannibal moving around upstairs and whines, wanting to go to him. But Hannibal told him to stay, and he's in no condition to go chasing around for him.

Hannibal returns, and Will lets out a sigh of relief for a reason he doesn't quite understand, smiling when Hannibal comes to the kitchen island and sets down his medical kit. He grabs a bowl and fills it with warm water, as well as a glass of ice water which he sets by Will's hand. "Drink," he says, and Will takes a sip obediently. "How long were you out there?"

Will bites his lower lip, trying to think. "I looked over the case file for a while," he says, turning his head to look through the doorway into the dining room. "I got bored. And it's so nice out."

"You shouldn't be outside _or_ moving around until your leg is healed," Hannibal says sternly. "I expect better from you."

Will ducks his head, heaving a breath. "I'm sorry," he says quietly.

Hannibal sighs, shaking his head. "Stubborn," he mutters, and Will manages a tight, off-kilter smile. Even now he wants to go back outside, he wants to keep digging. He'd been having fun, enjoying the way the mud clumped in his hands, got under his fingernails. He looks down at his dirty hands, his fingers curling. "Alright, stand up so I can get your jeans off."

Will smirks. "Are you going to take advantage of me, Doctor Lecter?" he purrs, but stands long enough for Hannibal to unbutton and unzip his jeans, working them off his hips and down his thighs. He sits back down, wincing when the bloody material sticks to his bandages. They're soaked through with blood.

Hannibal shakes his head, sighing, a fond smile on his face. He lets Will's jeans sit around his knees and checks the bandages, tutting at the state of them. He peels off the wet tape, unwrapping the bandage with great care. Hannibal is always careful with him.

He bares Will's thigh, the bruised flesh shining under the blood and the stitches standing out starkly. "Is this…fishing line?" Hannibal murmurs, frowning when he meets Will's eyes.

Will shrugs one shoulder.

Hannibal huffs, and goes to the sink to wash his hands. "You should have had the doctors in the hospital redress this," he says, and returns to Will.

"What's the point of dating a doctor if I still go to the E.R. whenever I get a bobo?" Will replies with a roll of his eyes.

"This is hardly a normal wound, Will," Hannibal murmurs. He cups Will's thigh and forces his legs to splay out as much as they can with his jeans still around his knees. He frowns when more blood wells up around the stitches in Will's thigh. "And playing in the mud isn't the best way to fight off infection. You know that."

Will sighs, biting his lower lip. He rubs at his jaw, feeling it ache like it does when he clenches his teeth for a long time. "You're right," he admits, sighing. "It was stupid. I was just…"

"Restless?" Hannibal finishes.

Will nods, ducking his head again. He feels like a bad house pet that has just trashed the place and his owner has come home to scold him. "It won't happen again," he murmurs.

"I should hope not," Hannibal replies. Then, he sighs. "I'm going to cut these out and redo them myself. Have you taken any more painkillers?"

Will shakes his head.

"Good."

Hannibal unwraps his medical kit, his fingertips leaving bloody stains on the leather, and pulls out a pair of small surgical scissors. "I'm worried about this bruising," Hannibal says. "You must tell me if you start to feel weak, or disoriented. It will point to signs of infection."

Will nods and presses his lips together as Hannibal carefully threads the scissors under the stitches, cutting them loose and pulling each one out, slow and methodical. Will takes another drink of water and swallows harshly, his mouth suddenly dry. He likes the color of blood on Hannibal's hands, always has, and feels again the overwhelming urge to lick his fingers clean.

He resists. Barely.

"Thread a needle for me," Hannibal says, as he starts on the last scratch. Will sets his water glass down and takes a needle and digs his lighter out of the pocket of his jeans, running the needle through the flame – although he has no doubt that Hannibal's equipment is clean, it's a habit he has never been able to break. He threads the needle with shaking hands and Hannibal sets the scissors down.

"This will hurt," Hannibal warns, and Will nods. He's no stranger to pain, or to stitches. He wraps a hand around the belt loop in his jeans and pulls tight, ready to focus his energy there when Hannibal starts to stitch him up.

Hannibal works quickly. He dips a towel in the bowl of water and wipes Will's thigh down, thoroughly cleaning the wound, and then starts to stitch him up after he cleans the needle and thread from Will's dirty hands. His stitches are much neater and tighter than Will's, and Will watches him do it, his jaws parted as he breathes through the pain and watches Hannibal work.

Hannibal ties the string at the end with a surgical knot and cuts it, setting the needle, thread, and scissors to one side. Then he takes a wrap of bandages from his kit and unravels it. He starts at the bottom of Will's thigh, just above his knee, and carefully wraps his thigh with firm pressure. Will shivers, biting his lower lip, as Hannibal passes the thickest part of his thigh and keeps going, until he's at the tender innards.

Hannibal smiles, brushing his hands gently under Will's thigh, binding him with the utmost care. "I don't suppose another request for you to get some rest will be obeyed."

Will huffs, taking another drink of water as Hannibal reaches the end of the bandage and fastens it with two butterfly closures. "Like you said; I'm stubborn."

"That you are," Hannibal replies fondly. He rinses his hands in the bowl of water and dries them on the pink towel he used to clean Will's skin, before he helps Will to his feet. Will reaches down to pull his jeans back up to his hips, careful not to damage any of Hannibal's work. Hannibal supports him while he does it and Will sighs, resting his forehead on Hannibal's shoulder. "Then could I convince you to stay a while, before I drive you back home?"

Will sighs, nodding, his eyes closing. He tries to limit the time he spends away from home to as little as possible, both for the sake of his animals and because he knows if he spends one night in Hannibal's home, it will quickly turn to two. Then three. Then he might never leave.

But he doesn't want to leave yet. He is always happy in Hannibal's company, but right now he feels positively elated. "I realized something about the case," Will says, limping to the dining room. Hannibal follows, carrying his glass of water, and he sets it down in front of Will when Will sits. "You're not going to believe this."

Hannibal cocks his head to one side.

"I realized that there _is_ a pattern," Will says, and opens the file, spreading out the myriad of DMV photographs for Hannibal to see. Hannibal leans over him, one hand on Will's chair, the other flat on the table. Will's eyes fall to his hand, momentarily silenced. He wants it in his hair.

He bites his lip and turns his attention back to the photos when Hannibal lets out a curious sound. "These people are all taken at different times of the month, different locations where they were last scene, et cetera," he says. "But then I noticed that, yes, they're taken at different times of the solar calendar month, but not the lunar."

He looks up, and Hannibal blinks at him, frowning. "Hannibal," he says quietly, and reaches out to flatten his hand over Hannibal's because he can't focus on anything else except the idea of touching him. "They've all been reported missing the night after the full moon."

Hannibal raises an eyebrow.

"I was thinking about what the nurse told me," Will says, "and I realized all these disappearances happen every twenty-eight days. Whoever is taking them, the full moon holds some significance for him."

"So, you believe that this kidnapper is, what, suffering from a lycanthrope delusion?"

"It makes sense, doesn't it?" Will murmurs, looking down at the photographs again. "Abducted in the middle of the night, no resurfacing, no bodies…" He hums. "Perhaps our killer is trying to form a pack."

Hannibal blinks, looking at Will, and Will lifts his eyes again. "Clinical lycanthropy is a rare delusion," Hannibal says quietly. "It usually manifests as a subset of schizophrenia or bipolar disorder."

"Maybe this person is hearing wolves in his head," Will says. "He must feel a significant bond to these people." He looks back down. "We should check if any of these people owned animals, or frequented places where animals might be, like the zoo, or parks."

"He cannot possibly be keeping all of these people," Hannibal says. "He must own a farm, or a lot of land. A compound of some sort."

Will nods. "We should tell Jack to expand his searches," he says. "See if they have a common meeting ground within their last known locations."

Hannibal smiles. "It's a good thing you have so many animals to protect you," he says, and Will gasps when Hannibal moves his hand from the back of his chair, cupping his neck. He sags into the touch, his eyes closing. "Otherwise your picture might have been here too."

"I wasn't attached by a werewolf," Will huffs, closing the file. "It was just a dog."

"Now, my knowledge of werewolf mythology isn't quite at a hundred percent, but I think that's pretty common during the full moon. A transformation."

"Don't tease me," Will snaps.

"I'm not teasing you, my dear," Hannibal says, petting his hand up through Will's hair. "You've found a pattern."

"Yeah." Will huffs, sitting back in his chair, and rubs a hand over his jaw. His mouth aches like sensitive teeth meeting cold. "It's going to be fun, pitching that idea to Jack."

Hannibal hums, and Will lifts his head to meet his eyes. Then, he smiles, sly and knowing. "Would you still love me if I started howling at the moon?" he asks.

"I would love you no matter what," Hannibal replies, and Will's breath catches in the same way it always does when Hannibal declares things like that. His chest gets tight and warm and he squeezes Hannibal's hand and lifts it to his face. Hannibal's fingers curl around his jaw, thumb brushing over his cheek. Hannibal leans down and kisses him, and Will's breath catches again.

"I believe I was promised a reward for good behavior," he murmurs against Hannibal's mouth.

Hannibal pulls back, his eyes flashing with mirth. He smiles. "That you were," he replies. "Can you make it up the stairs?"

"With the right incentive? I'll manage."

 

 

Hannibal kisses Will when they reach his bedroom and Will sighs, clutching at Hannibal's clothes with his dirty hands. It's uncharacteristic of Hannibal not to ask Will to clean his hands when they're so dirty, and Will can't help wondering if he likes Will like this, muddy and wild with muck under his nails and dirt in his hair.

Hannibal guides Will to the bed and pushes on his shoulders until Will sits. "Undress for me, darling," he commands, and Will shivers, pulling his shirt over his head and throwing it to one side as Hannibal sheds his clothes. He turns his attention to his jeans and unfastens them, working them down his thighs carefully until he can pull them off his feet.

He reaches for his underwear and Hannibal's hands flatten over his, stopping them. "Let me," he murmurs, kissing Will's forehead, and Will shivers, biting his lower lip and leaning back on his elbows so he can arch his hips up and let Hannibal pull his underwear down his legs. The white bandage stands out starkly against his skin and he watches as Hannibal runs his hand down the inside of Will's thighs, curling like he wants to grab and tear. Hannibal's gentleness ends when the bedroom door closes.

Hannibal meets his eyes. "Get on your side," he commands, his voice a low growl, and Will nods, pushing himself up on the bed and rolling onto his good side, his uninjured thigh against the sheets.

Hannibal sheds the rest of his clothes and slides into place behind Will, one arm wrapping around Will's waist to tug their bodies tight together. Will moans, closing his eyes and bowing his head when Hannibal kisses the back of his neck. He shivers, feeling goose bumps break out down his arms, his stomach clenching under Hannibal's hand. His neck has always been sensitive but now it feels like there's a live wire under his skin that burns under Hannibal's mouth.

Hannibal growls, his arm cushioning Will's head, and he flattens his hand on Will's chest as his other hand slides down Will's stomach, wrapping around his hardening cock. Will whines, letting his bandaged thigh fall forward, his fingers curling in the sheets as Hannibal touches him.

Hannibal's heat is all around him, burying him in the scents of clean skin, of dirt, of Hannibal's incredible cologne. Will whines, turning his head to he can press his nose to Hannibal's neck as Hannibal touches him, his fingers forming a tight ring around Will's cock and stroking him slowly.

Hannibal hums, smiling, and kisses Will's temple, his arm tight around Will's chest as Will shivers, arching back to try and get closer. "Hannibal," he breathes, his voice low and raspy. He likes the way Hannibal shivers whenever Will addresses him by his first name – it's like a treat to him, Will knows that. After so long being just a title, whether it's 'Doctor' or 'The Ripper', Will knows Hannibal delights in being called by name, especially in moments like this.

Will reaches back, digs his nails into Hannibal's flank and tugs them closer. His eyes close when he feels Hannibal's cock slide between his thighs. "Please," he whispers, his voice shaking.

Hannibal growls, pulling back so he can kiss Will's neck, and then he lets Will go, rolling over to reach into his bedside table and retrieve the lubricant. Will bites his lower lip when Hannibal sits up, pouring some onto his fingers, and then joins Will on his side. He wraps his arm around Will's chest again and Will shivers, rolling more onto his stomach and lifting his injured thigh to give Hannibal room.

Hannibal slides his wet fingers between Will's legs and Will trembles, his nails digging into the sheets as Hannibal pushes inside of him with one finger. It burns – it's been a while since Will let Hannibal do this – and he bears down against his finger, clenching his eyes tightly shut and gritting his teeth as he feels Hannibal sink his finger in as deep as he can.

"You're alright," Hannibal murmurs, kissing Will's flushed neck and flattening his chest to Will's back, his arm tight around Will to keep him still. It feels like being caught on a line and Will could try and fight, try and swim to safety and get the hook out of his mouth, or he could allow himself to be yanked out of the water and gutted by Hannibal's hand.

He always chooses the latter.

" _Please_ ," Will hisses, moaning when Hannibal works a second finger inside him. His stomach is tense, and Will puts a hand on his cock, stroking tight and slow as Hannibal's fingers stretch him out. He shivers, baring his neck for Hannibal's teeth. "Mm, _fuck_."

"It's been too long, darling," Hannibal growls, kissing the shell of Will's ear before biting down. Will cries out sharply, his body clenching up around Hannibal's fingers. Hannibal lets out a low laugh. "If you lived here -."

"I want to," Will gasps. Hannibal's fingers curl, pressing against his sensitive insides. Will's chest tightens, and he growls when he feels Hannibal's fingers touch his prostate, that warm, gut-deep promise of an orgasm flickering at the back of his head. Hannibal can and has gotten Will off with just fingers before, and Will would be lying if he said he didn't have a small obsession with Hannibal's hands. They're a killer's hands, and capable of great violence and grace in equal measure.

"Oh?" Hannibal purrs, kissing Will's neck as he works in a third finger. Will trembles, his thigh aching from being so tense, but he'd sooner take another bullet than tell Hannibal to stop now. "What changed your mind?"

"I wish you were there, last night," Will stutters, clenching his eyes tightly shut as Hannibal's hand coaxes another wave of pleasure down his spine, fanning the flames in his stomach until it feels like he's burning. "You wouldn't have let me get hurt."

"No," Hannibal breathes. He pulls his fingers out and Will whimpers, but forces himself to remain still until he feels Hannibal's weight against his back, his cock slick against Will's ass. "I wouldn't."

Hannibal's hand goes to his nip, tightening and digging his nails in around the bone, and Will moans as he feels Hannibal's cock push into him, splitting him open. He gasps, shaking, his thigh itching and stinging with sweat, and he lets go of his cock and wraps his hand in the pristine sheets as Hannibal pulls him back, forcing Will to take his cock to the hilt until Will feels Hannibal's hips connect with his.

He lets his breath out shakily, swallowing around his dry, aching throat as Hannibal growls. His arm tightens around Will's neck, holding him still, and Will feels Hannibal's teeth against his nape.

" _Yes_ ," Will gasps, bowing his head forward until the pressure of Hannibal's forearm against his throat is uncomfortable and the back of his neck is totally bare. "Please. Move."

Hannibal hums, sliding back and thrusting in again. It's jarring, even for how smooth and gentle Hannibal is being, in the same way light is suddenly disorienting after so long in complete darkness. Will closes his eyes, unable to bear the lights in Hannibal's room, unable to think past the rough sounds of pleasure Hannibal growls into his ear and the way their bodies so effortlessly collide and make way for each other.

He wraps his hand around his cock again, his jaw aching and his breathing unsteady as Hannibal fucks him. Hannibal kisses the back of his neck, his jaws parted to suck a dark mark there.

Will shudders when he feels Hannibal's teeth. It's a sudden, sharp heat that spears him in place, the same kind that happened when Hannibal told him to be good. His eyes fly open and he gasps, trembling as he tightens his hand at the head of his cock, his gut tense and his spine hot, and he spills over his fingers with a ragged whimper.

Hannibal growls, flattening his hand on Will's hip, tight and hot to maintain purchase on Will's sweaty skin. "Please," Will begs, reaching back to grab Hannibal's thigh with his dirty hand, trying to put more force behind his thrusts. He wants to roll to his hands and knees, let Hannibal fuck him for real, but he doubts he could convince Hannibal to trust that much weight on his leg.

But he _wants_ it. He wants Hannibal to cover him, bite his neck hard enough that he bleeds, mount him and fuck him as brutally as he can. Until Will howls. He wants his Alpha to -.

He gasps, blinking at his own thoughts. But they don't linger long – he hears Hannibal snarl and shivers, pleasure running down his spine at the sound. Hannibal gets rough towards the end and Will is desperate for it.

Hannibal bites him again, too gentle for what Will wants but rougher than he has been so far, and he thrusts deep into Will, breathing heavily. Will feels his cock twitch, thicken, and then Hannibal goes tense and Will shivers, biting his lower lip when Hannibal lets out a rough sound that means he's started to spill.

Hannibal goes lax, petting over Will's chest, his arm loosening from around Will's neck. "No," Will says, whimpering, his nails digging into Hannibal's thigh when Hannibal tries to pull out. He clenches up, desperate to keep him close, inside. "No."

Hannibal pauses, but he obeys, wrapping his arms tight around Will's body, stays pressed up against his back. He kisses the sore bite marks on Will's neck and Will shivers, his cock twitching even though Will isn't a teenager anymore and certainly couldn't go to round two just yet.

Will sighs, turning his head and kissing Hannibal's jaw, nuzzling his cheek. He smiles when Hannibal cups his neck and kisses him deeply. "I must say, you're being very affectionate," he murmurs, low and pleased.

Will hums. "What can I say?" he replies, soft and teasing. "I like being around you."

"If you're serious about moving in, we can start packing tonight," Hannibal says, his voice soft, but Will can tell how eager and elated he is. It changes his scent, makes it spicy and warm like a flavor on his tongue.

Will huffs. "Need to finish the kennel," he replies. "And make arrangements for the others."

"We'll hire someone to do that," Hannibal says. "I don't want you hurting yourself or risking infection."

"I understand," Will says, although he feels a little put out at the idea that he won't be able to go back outside without earning Hannibal's disapproval. Hannibal wouldn't stop him, of course, if Will really wanted to, but he must admit Hannibal is right – he shouldn't be doing anything too taxing until he's healed up a little.

Hannibal pulls back and Will whines when he feels Hannibal slide out of him. He clenches up and rolls onto his back, burying his face in Hannibal's neck as Hannibal embraces him. Hannibal, after a moment, rumbles a low laugh, and Will pulls back to see his face.

"I think I owe that dog a gift basket," he says, his eyes shining with joy.

Will rolls his eyes, and he slaps Hannibal's chest good-naturedly. "Don't push your luck," he mutters, and Hannibal laughs.


	3. Chapter 3

Will does manage to source himself a cane, leaning heavily on it as he gets out of Hannibal's car and walks towards the university. He turns when he hears the engine rev and sees Hannibal driving away, biting his lower lip, his knuckles white on the cane as he fights the urge to give chase.

He shakes his head, rolling his shoulders, and sighs. Honestly, he's acting like a teenager, lovesick with their first crush. He's been dating Hannibal for well over a year now, and known him far longer, and while he has always admired and adored the man, he feels almost rabid with the desire to stay by his side. Probably some weird hormone thing – he wouldn't put it past Hannibal to put something in his food to cultivate feelings of comfort and need in Will.

He laughs at the idea of Hannibal putting something like Xanax or serotonin in his wine, and looks up when he catches the scent of a familiar perfume. It's Alana, and Will smiles widely at her as she approaches him.

"Hi!" he says, and wraps his arm around her shoulders in a tight hug. She huffs, looking surprised but pleased, and hugs him back before withdrawing. Will resists the urge to put his face in her neck and breathe in her perfume.

"Good morning, Will," she says warmly, and walks with him towards the university building. "You're in a good mood."

"I am in an _awesome_ mood," Will corrects her, still smiling. Last night he had slept so well, he'd forgotten what it felt like to wake up without night sweats and panic. He hasn't experienced an anxiety attack in a long time during the day, but he still gets nightmares, sometimes, and sleeps fitfully. But last night, cradled in Hannibal's arms, not even the pain in his thigh had kept him awake.

She hums, nodding at his limp. "I heard about your leg," she says.

Will huffs. "Yeah," he replies, rubbing a hand over his jaw to sooth the ache in his teeth. "Not the first time a dog got me and I'm sure it won't be the last."

"Shouldn't you be resting?" Alana asks, one eyebrow raised.

"Why? It's a beautiful day."

Alana presses her lips together, looking up at the cloudy sky. "Are we looking at the same day?" she teases.

Will laughs, nudging her playfully. He's so happy to see her – her smile is always so warm and lovely, like a mother's, and the blue of her blouse brings out her eyes today.

She meets his eyes and laughs. "Well, whatever has caused it, I'm glad you're in a good mood," she says, resting a hand on his arm and pushing open the door for him.

"You should come over for dinner tonight," Will says, coming to a stop outside of his lecture hall. He can hear murmuring from his students inside as they wait for him, and he smiles, shifting his weight and tapping his cane against the floor, eager to go in and get started. "Please say 'Yes'. You can bring Margot!"

Alana blinks at him, tilting her head to one side. "…Alright," she replies, amused. "At your house?"

"No, of course not – Hannibal's," Will replies. "You know I can't cook worth a damn."

She laughs, rolling her eyes. "Okay. I'll be by at seven," she says, and turns and walks away. Will presses his lips together, sad to see her go.

But he has a lecture to give. And it'll be an exciting one – he always loves giving lectures on the Chesapeake Ripper. It feels like he's an actor on a TV show trying to promote the next season without being able to give away any of the big secrets.

He limps into the lecture hall and the students go quiet. "Morning, everyone!" he greets brightly. He sees the ones in the front row exchange a look. He has never been particularly friendly to his students, but damn it, he's in a fantastic mood and he thinks he might even indulge in a little Q&A, force them to participate for a change.

He fires up the projector and claps his hands together, resting against the front of his desk. "Alright, let's get started."

 

 

By the afternoon, Will's jaw aches terribly, even worse than his leg – which is definitely putting up protests of its own. He takes some more painkillers, swallowing them dry, and slides the bottle back into his bag.

He hears the doors to the cafeteria open and his head snaps up, nostrils flaring as he tries to look at who has come in. His face splits into a wide smile when he sees Hannibal approaching. His bag smells like warm meat.

"Hannibal," Will purrs, pushing himself to his feet.

He wraps his fingers in Hannibal's coat and pulls him in for a kiss, humming when Hannibal tenses, hesitating only a moment before he leans into the kiss. When he pulls back, Hannibal's eyes are wide, shocked, but he's smiling wide enough to show his teeth.

"Sit," Hannibal murmurs, and Will drops back into his chair obediently. "How's your leg?"

"Fine," Will replies, sitting back in his seat as Hannibal opens his bag and pulls out a Tupperware of food, the lid dark with condensation. He takes in a deep breath. "That smells awesome."

Hannibal raises an eyebrow, and eyes Will's empty tray. "Are you still hungry?" he asks.

Will nods, sitting forward eagerly as Hannibal takes out a second dish and hands it to him. Will takes his fork from his tray and opens the dish, breathing in the scent of roasted meat. He sees mashed potatoes with the skins still there, asparagus, and what looks like chicken, but he knows is not chicken.

He takes a large bite, humming in pleasure at the flavor. Hannibal regards him for a long moment before he starts to eat as well. "How has your day been?"

"Good," Will replies. "I invited Alana and Margot to dinner."

Hannibal raises an eyebrow. "They are always welcome."

Will smiles. "I knew you wouldn't mind."

"Have you managed to speak to Jack about your werewolf theory?"

"Crap. No," Will murmurs, frowning down at his food, before he takes another large bite of potatoes. "I don't have any more lectures, though. Can you drive me to the BSU?"

"Of course," Hannibal replies, smiling faintly. "I reached out to some contractors about building a kennel in the backyard. How many dogs do you think you'll want to keep?"

Will presses his lips together. "Winston, definitely," he says, and Hannibal nods. "And Buster's injured. We should keep him for a while. And Addy."

"Buster is…the little one, correct?" Hannibal asks, and Will nods. "How did he get injured?"

"The night Winston went missing, Buster was gone too. When I called him he came, but his front leg looked bitten. I'd assumed it was Winston. Now, though…" He pauses, frowning. "It might have been that other dog."

"If the animal is out and about, biting and scratching people, his owner should be contacted. You may not be the first it has done that to."

Will's frown deepens. "I know what they do to animals like that," he says darkly, stabbing a piece of 'chicken' more vehemently than he'd meant to. "I don't want to call animal control."

"Will -."

" _No_ , Hannibal," Will growls, showing his teeth. Hannibal blinks at him and Will shivers, putting a hand over his mouth and sitting back. He rubs at his jaw and shakes his head. "Sorry," he murmurs, frowning down at his lap. "I'm sorry."

Hannibal tilts his head to one side, and nods towards Will's hand. "Are you in pain?"

"My teeth keep hurting," Will murmurs. "But I checked them. No irritants or signs of infection that I can see."

"Have you been experiencing any nausea, or dizziness?" Hannibal asks.

Will shakes his head.

"Will, I know you don't want me to abuse my power, but if you are getting sick, I want to know as soon as possible," Hannibal murmurs. "Infections don't just stop at the injury site, and this wouldn't be the first time your brain suffered the consequences."

Will winces. "I know," he murmurs, cowed. He toys with his fork and sits forward again to eat more. He's starving, like no amount of food could possibly fill him. Hannibal's portions are generous with him, always have been, and before Hannibal had arrived Will had spent upwards of twenty dollars on food from the cafeteria, but he's still hungry.

Hannibal makes a soft, concerned sound, and reaches forward to take Will's free hand. "I'm just worried about you," he murmurs.

"I know," Will replies, squeezing his fingers gently. He looks up and meets Hannibal's eyes. "Am I behaving that differently? Alana mentioned it, too."

"It's not a bad thing," Hannibal assures him. "Just…a very drastic change."

"Should I be worried?"

"No, darling," Hannibal replies, offering him a reassuring smile. "Whatever it is, whatever happens, I'll take care of you."

"I don't want to get sick again," Will murmurs, withdrawing his hand. His fingers curl on the edge of the table. "I don't want to go back to the doctor."

"And I will do everything in my power to make sure you don't have to."

Will hums and finishes his food with another bite. He swallows harshly and puts his fork back on the tray, closing the container. "Thanks for bringing this," he says, wiping his hand over his mouth. "I feel like I've grown a hollow leg."

Hannibal nods. Will can see the list in his eyes; he knows Hannibal is looking at him like a patient. Mood swings, changes in temperament, restlessness, aching teeth, increased appetite. He stifles a low growl. "Stop it," he demands.

Hannibal blinks at him. "Stop what?"

"Until we know I'm sick, don't treat me like I am," Will replies.

Hannibal huffs, smiling somewhat guiltily. "I apologize."

"You should make it up to me," Will murmurs, his smile sly when Hannibal looks at him. "My lecture hall will be empty the rest of the day."

Hannibal's eyes widen, and he looks around the rest of the cafeteria. His expression is a mix of bemused and exasperated. "Careful, darling," he says, his voice low. "I'd hate to get the feeling I don't satisfy you."

"Food isn't the only thing a man can be hungry for, Doctor Lecter," Will purrs.

Hannibal huffs a laugh, finishing his meal and closing the container. He puts both away and Will sits up straighter, eager and anticipatory. "That can wait, darling," he says, and Will bites his lower lip, swallowing back a whine. "We must go see Jack, first."

Will nods, standing, and Hannibal carries his tray to the station and returns, shouldering his bag. They walk together out of the cafeteria and it is only then that Will realizes he had just propositioned Hannibal for sex in the middle of a Goddamn Wednesday at a crowded university.

He frowns down at the floor. What in the world had he been thinking?

 

 

They get to Hannibal's car and Will climbs into the passenger seat, hissing in discomfort and kneading at his injured leg as Hannibal gets into the driver's seat and starts the car. The drive is smooth, but Will feels every pothole, every turn, in his leg. By the time they reach the BSU his entire leg feels like it's on fire.

Hannibal parks and gets out and Will tries to follow suit but can't make his leg move enough to put his foot out of the car and on the ground. "Will?" Hannibal asks, leaning down so he can see Will's face. Will is breathing hard, his forehead clammy with cold sweat.

"I'm fine," Will growls, clenching his eyes tightly shut as he tries to move his leg, but he can't make it do so. He cups his hands under his thigh and forces it out, his breath leaving him in an unsteady gasp when hot pain shoots up his thigh like the dog is ripping open his sutures anew. " _Fuck_."

"Here," Hannibal says, offering his hand, and Will takes it, clutching at him tightly as Hannibal helps him stand. He holds Will his cane and Will takes it, hissing when it feels like he can't even put weight on his foot. He tries, and stumbles into Hannibal's chest.

Hannibal catches him, one hand threading through Will's hair, the other holding him around the waist. "You've been on your feet all day," he says. "You should rest."

"I can make it," Will mutters, leaning against the car so he can close the door behind him. Hannibal lets him go, albeit reluctantly, worry shadowing his face. "I'm fine."

"You are most definitely _not_ fine," Hannibal growls. He helps Will onto the curb and Will whimpers, gritting his teeth at the pain. "Have you taken any painkillers?"

"Took some at lunch," Will replies.

Hannibal nods, and walks him over to a bench in front of the building. "I need to get inside," Will protests.

"Will," Hannibal growls, commanding and sharp. "Sit _down_."

Will drops to the bench without conscious thought, grimacing in pain. He clutches at the top of his thigh, working his thumbs into the sore muscle but careful not to disrupt the bandages.

"I will call Jack and ask him to come out here," Hannibal says, standing over him like he's keeping watch. Will has to concentrate on breathing through his teeth and trying not to throw up. Hannibal takes out his cell phone and calls Jack, summoning him outside.

After a long moment, Will lifts his head as Jack's shadow falls over him. "Damn, Will, you look like death warmed over," Jack says, his gruff voice and words forcing a tight smile from Will.

"Yeah," he replies tersely. "I, ah, wanted to talk to you about the abduction case."

"That could have waited," Jack replies. "There haven't been any new missing persons cases."

Will frowns, looking up and squinting at Jack's silhouette. "Are you sure?" he asks.

Jack nods, stepping to one side so Will isn't looking at the sun directly. He has his hands in his pockets, his face grim as it always is. He's eyeing Will like Will is a ticking time bomb too close to zero to be comfortable.

"That doesn't make sense," Will murmurs. "It doesn't fit the pattern."

"So there's a pattern now?"

Will nods. He licks his lips, his throat suddenly dry. He feels dizzy and closes his eyes, fighting the urge to throw up. He ate too much. _Shit_. "The, ah, _shit_." He grits his teeth and bows his head, rubbing a hand over his aching jaw. "Doctor Lecter, tell him."

"Will noticed that the people are being reported missing the night after the full moon," Hannibal tells Jack.

Jack hums, sounding nonplussed. "The full moon…two nights ago," he says, and Will nods. "So we should have seen another report come up."

"Something stopped him," Will murmurs.

"We believe he may be suffering some kind of lycanthrope delusion," Hannibal continues. "The full moon compels him to attack and take these people, and to do whatever he does with the bodies. We shall need to check if they all visited similar animal-oriented areas. Veterinarians. Parks. Zoos."

Jack huffs. "That hardly narrows it down, Doctor Lecter," he says coolly.

"Did they have pets?" Will asks, swallowing back the nausea and lifting his head. "The people that are missing?"

"I can check," Jack replies. He looks at Will again. Will can feel Jack's eyes on him. "You should be resting, Will."

"I wanted to tell you my theory," Will mutters.

"It could have been handled with a phone call," Jack replies, his stern father-figure voice coming through. Will winces, whining at the sound of it. He hates it when Jack speaks to him like that, like he's done something wrong by doing the proper thing. "Get him home, Doctor Lecter. Will, I don't want to see you again until you're fully recovered."

Will presses his lips together as Jack leaves, and sits back, sighing, his head tilted up to the sun. "That could have gone better," he mutters.

"We told Jack your theory," Hannibal says, sitting down next to Will. Will hums when he feels Hannibal's knuckles against his forehead. "You're burning up. You might have a fever."

"I feel like I'm going to be sick," Will replies. He turns his head and slits his eyes, seeing Hannibal's worried expression. "I just ate too much, that's all."

Hannibal sighs. "I'm sorry, darling," he says, petting Will's sweaty hair back from his face. "I simply can't take that chance."

"You promised," Will whines. "You said no hospitals. No doctors."

Hannibal sighs.

"I swear to God, if you drug me and I wake up in a hospital bed I will hunt you down and wring your neck."

That, at least, manages to make Hannibal smile. "No hospitals," he murmurs. "I will attempt to treat you at home for as long as I can. And I will call in a favor to get your test results back as soon as possible, so we know what you might have contracted."

Will hums, closing his eyes. "Should probably tell Alana and Margot that dinner's off."

"We shall postpone it," Hannibal replies. "I'm sure they'll understand."

Then, he falls silent, and Will opens his eyes again. He can see a thought in Hannibal's eyes, as easily as he sees diagnoses and hunger and everything else his lover is thinking. "What?" he demands. "Out with it."

Hannibal presses his lips together. "Think very carefully for me, darling," he says. "When that dog came to your home, did you see any evidence of someone else?"

Will blinks, frowning. "No," he replies. "There was nothing."

"Nothing strange about the animal itself?"

Will huffs, shrugging. "It didn't look like any dog I'd ever seen," he replies. "It was all black, really big, furry but built like a racing breed. There was blood on its paws and face. I'd assumed at the time it had been hunting an animal."

"You said it had a collar," Hannibal presses, and Will nods. "What kind of collar? Custom?"

Will blinks. Now that he thinks about it; "It was thick. Leather. High quality. No tags," Will replies. He stiffens as another wave of pain shoots up from his thigh and drops his hands to his leg, gently brushing his palms down the part where it aches most, over the largest scratch. "Might have been custom."

"I shall check to see if there is anyone local who would make a collar like that."

Will smirks. "Who'd have thought," he murmurs. "The famous Doctor Lecter Googling collar makers."

Hannibal laughs. "Perhaps I'll have one made for you," he says, and Will knows he's joking, but his eyes flash and he gasps at the sudden strike of heat in his chest. Not pain – something much sharper and more focused than that.

He licks his lips and tries to laugh it off. "Take me home?" he whispers, and Hannibal nods, getting to his feet and helping Will to stand. The sudden change makes Will's head feel light and he gasps, dizzy and stumbling. By the time he gets to Hannibal's car, he feels like he's about to pass out.

Then Hannibal deposits him into the passenger seat, and he does.

 

 

He wakes in Hannibal's guest room, trembling and sodden with sweat. He moans, rolling onto his side to find a bowl sitting at the edge of the bed, and grabs it frantically before emptying his stomach into the bowl. The scent is sharp, and he wrinkles his nose, groaning in pain and pushing the bowl away.

Hannibal enters the room, coming to him quickly. He has a wet hand towel and presses it to Will's forehead and Will moans, closing his eyes at the feeling of the cool material against his feverish skin. He shivers, pulling the blankets up around his shoulders even though every instinct is telling him to push them off – fevers have to be sweated out. He knows that better than anyone.

"Here," Hannibal says, reaching to the bedside table and gathering up a small handful of various pills, handing them to Will with a glass of water. Will swallows them without question, chugging the water until the glass is empty. He sets it back down, fingers shaking. "How are you feeling, darling? I need details."

"Hungry," Will murmurs, which he knows is uncharacteristic of a fever. "Hot. My jaw feels like it's going to fall off. My leg hurts."

Hannibal nods, rolling Will onto his back and pulling the sheets back to expose his leg. He'd undressed Will, leaving him in underwear and a t-shirt only. Will shivers at the cold air. Hannibal peels the bandages back and frowns. "They don't look infected," he says, and leans in to smell the wounds. "Nor smell infected."

Will moans, shivering and clenching his eyes tightly shut.

"I called Doctor Sutcliffe," Hannibal murmurs. "He'll have the test results to me by tonight."

Will frowns. "How long was I asleep?" he asks.

"Seventeen hours," Hannibal says, his voice low with worry. Will gasps, shocked. He hasn't slept that long for as long as he can remember without the use of some pretty extreme medication.

"Did you give me something?" he asks, frowning.

Hannibal shakes his head. "No," he replies, correcting Will's bandages and pulling the sheets over him again. Will curls up and rolls onto his side, sighing when Hannibal pets through his sweaty hair. "But there was a sedative in the water you just drank."

Will huffs. "Arrogant dick," he says without heat, and hears Hannibal laugh.

"If you think you can keep it down, I can get you something to eat."

Will shakes his head. "No," he says, and reaches out to grab Hannibal's hand tightly. He whines. "Don't leave. Please."

Hannibal sighs, wrapping his free hand around Will's fingers, before he corrects the cold cloth on Will's forehead, letting it rest over his temple and cheek. "I won't, darling," he murmurs, and lifts Will's knuckles into a kiss. "I'm right here."

Will swallows, already feeling the drug start to take effect. He tightens his hand on Hannibal's, unwilling to let him go. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, words slurring already. It's getting harder to talk. "Please, stay with me."

"I'm not going anywhere," Hannibal replies, his voice sounding far-off and distant. Will trembles, baring his teeth, fighting against the drug for as long as he can. He slips under with the feeling of Hannibal's fingers petting gently through his hair.


	4. Chapter 4

Will surges awake with a groan, immediately rolling over and emptying the bile in his stomach into the bowl by his bed. He gasps, his throat raw and tight, body trembling as he heaves into the bowl. His hand finds the edge of it blindly, grabbing with white knuckles so he doesn't accidentally get any on the floor.

He shivers, opening his eyes, and gasps when he sees what's in the bowl.

"Hannibal," he moans, his voice hoarse and shaky. He blinks blearily, trying to look around, but his eyes won't focus, and everything is blurry. Still, he can tell Hannibal isn't in the room with him. "Hannibal!"

He hears footsteps, and rolls onto his back, letting go of the bowl and hissing when his leg twinges in pain. It's not as bad as when he was last awake, but it still aches sharply.

Hannibal appears at the open door, his face a mask of concern, and he goes to Will's side. "How are you feeling?" he asks, putting a hand on Will's sweaty forehead.

Will whimpers, and gestures to the bowl. "Look," he says.

Hannibal raises his eyebrows and turns his attention to Will's bowl. He frowns and kneels down on the floor. "Are those…?"

Will hums, licking over his chapped lips. "I'm pretty sure I didn't eat any teeth recently," he mutters.

Hannibal lets out a soft, concerned sound, and pushes himself onto the bed at Will's side. He takes Will's jaw and forces his mouth open, peering inside. Will is too weak to resist him, and he closes his eyes and rubs his forehead against Hannibal's hand when Hannibal lets him go.

"You aren't missing any," he murmurs, frowning. He gets up and Will whines. "I'll be right back."

"Don't leave," Will says, but Hannibal is already gone. Will growls, trying to push himself upright. His stomach is clenching, painful with hunger. He's _starving_ , but his throat is too raw to try and eat anything just yet. The guest bed is soaked through with sweat and he pushes the blankets off him, too hot to stand it.

Hannibal returns, holding what looks like a piece of plasticine in his hands. Will blinks at him, too groggy to ask what he has that for. "Open your mouth," Hannibal commands, and Will does so, letting Hannibal fit the chalky, tasteless wad between his teeth. "Bite down," he says, and Will obeys.

Hannibal cups his jaw and digs his fingers at the hinge of it, forcing Will's mouth open and Will releases the plasticine, which now has an imprint of his teeth, as well as a slick shine of leftover saliva and bile clinging to it. He winces at the smell.

Hannibal frowns, turning it over. "Strange," he murmurs.

"What?" Will asks.

"These imprints look too sharp to be standard," he says, regarding Will again. Then he turns his attention back to the bowl, picking it up and swishing around the liquid so he can get a better look at the teeth inside. "Molars, canines, and incisors," he adds. "It looks like you've thrown up a full set."

"Well if I didn't eat any, and I'm not missing any, where the Hell did they come from?" Will demands.

Hannibal presses his lips together, and he looks at Will. "Tell me," Will murmurs. "I can see you have a theory."

"Well," Hannibal begins, setting the bowl back down and placing the plasticine on Will's nightstand. "If you didn't ingest them, and you're not missing any, the only conclusion I can draw is that you grew new ones, and these are what you had before."

"Oh, I see, so you've completely lost your mind," Will says, his voice too tired to be as light as he wants it to be.

"You said your jaw was aching," Hannibal says. "Perhaps it was the new teeth growing. Like wisdom teeth."

"Doctor Lecter, if a patient came to you and said they'd completely grown a new set of sharp teeth during the night, what would you tell them?" Will says sharply, rolling his eyes.

"Tell me, then, darling, do you have another explanation?"

Will pauses, and huffs. He scratches absently at the edge of his bandages, hissing in discomfort. "No," he admits.

Hannibal sighs, and his eyes go to Will's dressing. "Let me change these," he says, and stands again to retrieve more bandages and a bowl of warm water to clean the wounds. Will rubs at his jaw while he's gone, carefully sliding a finger into his mouth to feel along the edges of his teeth. There are none missing, and Will hisses when he drags the pad of his fingertip over one of his canines. They do feel pointier than normal.

Hannibal returns, and Will sits up, pillows at his back to rest against, and spreads his legs so Hannibal has room to treat and dress the scratches. "How long was I out for this time?" he asks.

"Almost a full day," Hannibal replies, and Will hums, able to hear Hannibal's worry.

"Figures," Will mutters. "I'm starving."

"If you're up to it, I'll bring you something to eat when I'm done here."

Will nods, humming in acceptance, and Hannibal undoes the butterfly clips and unwraps the bandaging slowly, careful not to harm Will's stitches. When the bandage comes off, Hannibal makes a low sound of surprise, drawing Will's attention.

"What…?"

He looks down. The scratches on his leg are not gone, but they look completely healed over, only a line of scarring where the biggest one was and pale marks for the other two, interrupted by Hannibal's fine stitches. He frowns, and Hannibal meets his gaze.

"You heal fast," Hannibal murmurs, like he's testing the waters.

Will shakes his head, doing the mental math to figure out how long it's been since he was injured. "Not that fast," he replies.

"Your fever has broken," Hannibal says. "And I received the results of your blood test while you were asleep."

"And?"

"Nothing," Hannibal replies. "They found nothing."

Will frowns. "Then why did I get sick?"

Hannibal lets out a short, frustrated sound, standing. "I don't know, Will," he replies. Will whines, helpless, and Hannibal shakes his head. "Let me get some scissors. I'll need to cut the thread out."

Will nods, swallowing back his protest as Hannibal leaves the room again. This doesn't make any sense – no one heals up just fine after less than a week with such deep wounds and terrible fever. But Will has to admit he feels…kind of great. His head is clearing now that he's awake, the tremors have calmed. His jaw doesn't hurt and neither does his head. His thigh still aches, but more the ache of muscles after a hard workout, not a limb that has been damaged by an animal.

It's like his body pushed the reset button.

Hannibal returns and sits on the side of the bed, smoothing his hand down the inside of Will's thigh and cupping his leg behind his knee so Will lifts his thigh and Hannibal can cut out the stitches. Hannibal works carefully and quickly, cutting and pulling each stitch like he's afraid that if he does it too roughly, Will's skin will reopen.

When he's done, he wipes Will's leg down with the cloth he'd used on Will's head, huffing in surprise as he sees that Will's leg is, in fact, completely healed. "Remarkable," he says, smoothing his hand up Will's thigh. He meets Will's eyes. "Do you feel any pain?"

"Soreness," Will replies with a shrug. He flexes his thigh and stretches his leg out, testing it, and receives a slight twinge for his trouble, but nothing else. He huffs a relieved smile. "This is insane." He clears his throat, swallowing at the sore feeling in the back of his mouth.

"Do you think you can stand?"

"Only one way to find out," Will says, and Hannibal stands, offering his hand. Will takes it, squeezing tightly, and throws his legs over the side of the bed, testing putting his weight on both feet. He grabs the nightstand and pushes himself upright, hissing in discomfort. But his leg manages to take his weight well enough. He takes a cautious step, smiling when it doesn't buckle.

Hannibal regards him, his eyes wide but his smile pleased. "Maybe all I needed was rest," Will says hesitantly.

"Perhaps," Hannibal replies, and he cups Will's neck. Will sags against him, whining softly and nuzzling at Hannibal's shoulder. Hannibal smells _amazing_ , far better than Will is sure he does. "Let's get you cleaned up and I'll make you something to eat."

Will nods and allows Hannibal to lead him into the guest bathroom. There is no bath in this room, but a large shower with a built-in place to sit made from white tile, and Will sheds his clothes unsteadily. He feels alright, but weak, and collapses on the seat with a tired sigh. "Will you be alright on your own?"

Will swallows, pride warring with the desire to keep Hannibal close. He forces himself to nod and offers Hannibal a small smile.

Hannibal smiles back and cups Will's head, placing a kiss to his sweaty forehead, and lets go. "Call me if you need anything," he says, and Will nods, forcing himself upright so that he can turn on the water and let it get hot.

He shivers, sitting back down and angling the showerhead to beat down on his shoulders and down his back, leaning forward so that the water pools around his thighs before running off the seat and into the drain. He absently touches his teeth again, feeling along the edges of them. His front teeth feel normal enough, but he can't help thinking his canines feel…not necessarily larger, but definitely more pointed. So do the normally, comparatively softer tops of his molars. He can't feel any sensitivity or soreness in his gums, any place where teeth might have been grown or lost.

He huffs to himself, shaking his head. "This is insane," he mutters. He's pretty damn sure he would have felt _teeth_ growing in his mouth. Then again, Hannibal had sedated him, and Will had only woken up when the need to vomit had called him from sleep. Maybe Will would have felt them had he been awake.

He looks down at his thigh, rubbing his fingers over the scar from the largest scratch. He can't think of anything he might have caught from an animal that would have made him so sick so suddenly, only to have the symptoms vanish without any trace. Combined with the sudden healing of his wounds, he's at a loss of what might have caused it. And Hannibal had told him that his blood tests had come back clean. So there's no explanation for Will getting sick in the first place if there had been no infection.

Unless Hannibal took him to the doctor while he was unconscious and forced him to be treated.

Will frowns at the thought, grabbing a bottle of shampoo and lathering a dollop into his hair. Hannibal wouldn't do that – he's willful, and controlling, but he wouldn't break a promise he made to Will unless Will was seconds away from death. Will has to believe that.

But the idea of spontaneous teeth growth and sudden healing doesn't lend itself any more likely answers.

He sighs, rinsing off, and shuts off the water, pushing himself to his feet. He gets out of the shower and shakes his head vehemently to rid himself of water from his hair.

Will pauses, staring at his blurry reflection in the fogged-up mirror, and then down at where all the water had gone flying. "Great," he mutters, rolling his eyes at himself. He reaches for the towel and wraps it around his head, drying his hair as quickly as he can and tries to shake off the desire to shake his skin dry again.

When he's clean, he goes back to the guest bedroom to see that Hannibal had laid out a pair of his lounge pants and a t-shirt for Will to wear, since Will has few clothes here of his own. Will smiles, purring to himself at the idea of wearing Hannibal's scent. He dresses quickly, pressing the neckline of the shirt to his nose and breathing in deeply, a smile on his face when he catches a trace of Hannibal's cologne on the material.

He hangs the towel in the bathroom and goes downstairs, pleased that his leg seems to be only giving him a slight limp, and finds Hannibal in the kitchen, the scents of roasting meat filling the air. Hannibal turns and smiles at him, and Will lets out a happy sound, walking over and burrowing into Hannibal's chest.

Hannibal huffs, curling a hand through Will's damp hair. "I'm so glad to see you're feeling better," he says, his voice soft and sincere.

Will smiles, leaning up to nuzzle Hannibal's jaw. "Thank you for taking care of me," he replies.

Hannibal smiles, his eyes shining with relief as he cups Will's jaw and kisses him chastely. "Of course, darling," he says. "I'd do anything for you."

Will hums, his chest warm with affection, and he lifts his mouth for another kiss, deepening it immediately and putting his nails in Hannibal's lower back. Hannibal laughs against his mouth, curling his fingers in Will's hair again as Will lets out a soft, needy sound.

The doorbell rings and Will perks up, his eyes on the doorway to the hall. "Someone's at the door," he says.

Hannibal sighs, pulling back and setting down his spatula. "So it seems."

"Yeah," Will says, licking his lips. "I'll get it."

He hurries out of the doorway, feeling Hannibal's surprised gaze at his back, and opens it to reveal Alana. She looks windswept and shocked to see Will standing at the door.

Will grins at her. "Hannibal, Alana's here!" he calls, and reaches out to pull her inside. "What a pleasant surprise."

"Will," she greets warmly, huffing in surprise when Will pulls her into a tight hug. She hugs him back, her eyes wide. She smells fantastic – what is that? "You're looking better. Hannibal told me you were very sick."

"I was," Will says, before he takes a deep breath and cocks his head to one side. "You smell fantastic. What is that?"

"Um…probably your dogs and Starbucks?" she replies with a laugh.

"I love it," Will declares, before he blinks and registers what she said. "My dogs?"

"I was taking care of them while you were sick," Alana murmurs, shrugging off her coat. Will hears Hannibal's footsteps behind him and he smiles.

"Thank you," he says ardently. "I appreciate that."

"It's no trouble," Alana replies, and cups Will's cheek with one hand. Will smiles, leaning into it and nuzzling her wrist, and she blinks in surprise and lets her hand drop. "Good morning, Hannibal."

"Alana, it's good to see you," Hannibal says, coming into view at Will's shoulder. He rests his hand on Will's other shoulder and squeezes gently and Will hums, just barely resisting the urge to turn and nuzzle close to Hannibal's chest. "I was just making Will something to eat. There's plenty for you as well if you're hungry."

"Please," Alana says, taking off her coat and hanging it, before the three of them go back to the kitchen.

"What time even is it?" Will asks. Hannibal has an annoying lack of clocks in his house, and he's not wearing a watch, nor does he have his phone. He wouldn't have put it past Hannibal to hide it, to deter him from trying to call Jack and work the case while he was sick.

"Just before noon," Alana replies. "It's Saturday, too, if that helps."

Will rolls his eyes, taking a seat and resting his elbows on the edge of the counter. "Thank you," he says dryly.

"How's your leg?" Alana asks, accepting the glass of her specially-brewed wine that Hannibal offers her with a smile.

Will shrugs, jogging his leg up and down as though to show her that it's recovered. "Never better," he says. "Got the stitches taken out this morning."

"…Really?" Alana asks, looking to Hannibal for confirmation. He nods, and she frowns. "I thought you'd be out for a week at least."

"I guess I heal fast," Will replies with a smile. Hannibal offers him a glass of water and Will takes it, cradling the glass in both hands and lowering his mouth to take a sip rather than raising the glass to his lips.

"This is almost ready, if you want to go into the dining room."

"Thank you," Alana says. She walks into the other room and Will gets to his feet, hesitating.

He wants to go with Alana, but he also wants to stay by Hannibal's side.

"Will?" Hannibal murmurs, catching his attention. "Are you feeling alright?"

Will sucks in a breath, knowing that if he keeps acting like this, Hannibal will start to worry. "Fine," he manages with a tight smile, and takes his glass of water. Hannibal tilts his head to one side and Will bites his lower lip, ducking his head. "I swear, I'm fine."

"You swore you were fine before you passed out in my guest bedroom for two days, too," Hannibal replies calmly.

Will swallows and turns away from him, walking towards the dining room without another word. Alana is sitting at the left-hand side of the head of the table and Will smiles at her, taking his seat opposite. Even though he wants to sit next to her just as badly.

"I'm glad to see you're feeling better," she says, her eyes gentle and her smile fond.

Will nods. "Yeah," he replies. He clears his throat and lifts his eyes to over her shoulder. He can see Hannibal's shoulder as he pays attention to the rest of the food, but he knows if he speaks too loudly, Hannibal will hear him. "Again, thank you for taking care of the dogs. I owe you big."

"It's the least I could do," Alana says. "I don't mind. You have a well-trained pack."

Will huffs a laugh. "I suppose." Then, he bites his lower lip, meeting her eyes. "I feel weird, Alana," he confesses.

She straightens up, frowning in concern. "Weird how?"

"How long have we known each other?" Will asks.

Alana huffs, shaking her head with another fond smile. "Years," she replies. "Six? Seven?"

Will pauses, regarding her for a long moment. "So, it's safe to say we know each other pretty well."

"I'd say so," Alana replies, before she tilts her head to one side and leans forward, holding out her hand, and Will doesn't even think about it before he puts his hand in hers, wrapping his fingers around her wrist and pressing their palms flat together. "What's going on, Will?"

"I feel like I've been behaving strangely," Will says quietly. She blinks at him, pressing her lips together. "Hannibal's noticed. So have you."

"Well, you were certainly very happy when we last spoke," she says, "but I'm hesitant to call that 'strange'. I think you are happy. You're just less…physically affectionate, usually?"

Will frowns and Alana squeezes his hand.

"But that's not a bad thing," she says insistently. "Being happy and showing that happiness to your loved ones isn't bad."

"But it's _weird_ , isn't it?" Will replies. He pulls his hand back and runs his fingers through his hair. "I never once said that I would move in with Hannibal. It's an argument we've had a lot, and I was always resistant to it. Now I can't stand to be in a room without him. And when I see you, I feel so Goddamn _happy_ , like I'm about to burst. And…"

He hesitates, and Alana leans forward. "What, Will?"

"Sometimes he says things and it…affects me," Will says, feeling his cheeks heat with embarrassment. He has never made it a habit to talk about his sex or love life, even with Alana. "Like an order and I do it before I even think about it. And it doesn't bother me."

Alana frowns, and Will sighs, tilting his head up to the ceiling.

"Hannibal told me my blood tests came back clean," he says. "There's no infection. Nothing. So, I can only conclude that there's something wrong with my head."

"Will," Alana begins, but stops as Hannibal brings in three plates of roasted 'pork' loin, with a side of fresh spinach and a cranberry sauce. Will smiles, his stomach rumbling loudly, and he winces, pressing his hand over his gut when Hannibal gives him an amused smile.

"There's plenty more," he says, resting a hand on Will's and squeezing gently. "Eat as much as you want, darling."

"Careful, I'll hold you to that," Will replies, earning another laugh.

Alana rolls her eyes, smiling at the both of them. "I noticed that it looks like there's been some attempt at gardening in the back yard," she says with a raised eyebrow, taking the first bite of meat.

Will's cheeks flush and he ducks his head. "Um. Yeah. I was digging the other day."

"Digging," Alana repeats.

"Will took it upon himself to map out a foundation for a kennel," Hannibal says, sounding very pleased with himself, like Will agreeing to move in with him is a huge personal victory. In a way, it is. "I advised against it while he was injured, but," he adds, his eyes on Will, "since you have recovered, I see no reason you cannot resume it."

"A kennel," Alana says, raising her eyebrows at Will. Will shrugs and takes a bite of food. "So I take it I won't have to keep making trips to Virginia whenever I want to visit?"

Will smiles, overjoyed at the idea of Alana visiting regularly. "Nope," he replies happily, scooping another mouthful of meat onto his fork and swallowing it almost whole.

"Well, it seems my week is going to be full of happy surprises," Alana says, smiling, with a meaningful look at Will. "It's about time you two moved in together."

"Apparently there is a limit to Will's stubbornness," Hannibal replies.

Will huffs, swallowing another bite of food. He should be taking his time, savoring it so he doesn't overeat and get sick like last time, but it tastes so _good_ and Hannibal said there was plenty, and Will hasn't eaten for almost two days. Not even last week, that wouldn't have been too out of the norm, but right now it's inexcusable.

"Let me know if you need help moving your stuff," Alana says. "Margot has a whole crew, and trucks we can use for furniture."

"Oh, we don't need to worry about any of that," Will says lightly, taking a drink of water.

Hannibal blinks at him. "I have no problem making room for you, Will," he says.

"But none of it smells like you," Will replies, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "So I don't want it."

Alana and Hannibal blink at him, and Will turns his attention back to his food with another hum.


	5. Chapter 5

Will sighs, sitting forward, one elbow braced on the table in front of him as he absently drums the end of his pen against the small stack of papers splayed out in front of him. The words are blurring together, not in the way they would when he was nauseous or getting a fever, but from exhaustion. He wants to sleep, but his next class is tomorrow, and he needs to get these done.

He heaves a frustrated breath, sliding the pen between his lips and biting down on the cap affixed to the end. It gives under his teeth easily and Will sucks in a breath through his nose, turning the page. He rolls his eyes at the amount of references given to penetrative control issues even in the first half of the page.

He pulls the cap off the pen, crushing it between his molars as he circles an uncited reference for him to refer to later, at the end of the paper where he writes up all his responses and issues with it. Sitting by his finished stack is a glass of water and he reaches for it, taking a drink.

He swallows and sets the glass down, rubbing a hand over his forehead and through his hair, and goes back to chewing on the pen cap. Then the end of the pen, when the cap doesn't provide enough pressure against his teeth. He huffs a short growl, tugging on the pen but not letting it go with his teeth.

He frowns. He needs to write another comment but can't get his jaws to part enough to let go. The plastic cracks and he coughs as the cap slides to the back of his throat, making him choke.

He drops the pen and spits the cap out, glaring down at the offensive, mangled piece of plastic.

Beside him, Buster whines, his dark eyes looking up at Will as Will meets them. Winston is by his side, head tilted, and licks his jaws when Will looks at him.

Will huffs a breath, rolling his eyes. "Losing my damn mind," he mutters. Hannibal had dropped him off that morning, claiming he had appointments all day and rightly pointing out that Will would be much more productive in his home than Hannibal's. Even though Will had insisted that he didn't need to bring anything from his home to start the move-in process, he must admit that that's not quite true. He will need to transfer all of the dog beds and toys he intends to keep, as well as his fishing equipment and his clothes. The furniture can be left or sold, and everything in the barn is either junk or well on its way to becoming it, so Will knows he doesn't have much to prepare, but being in his own home feels…nice.

Even though Hannibal isn't there with him. Which Will tries not to think about.

Without Hannibal by his side, in the company of his dogs and with his leg finally back up to fighting spirit, he feels a lot better than he did before. It's been a whirlwind of a week but sitting at his little dining table by the window, with his dogs either dozing by the fireplace or sitting at his feet, it feels normal. It's close to what Will remembers feeling like before he got attacked.

Winston lets out a soft whine, shifting forward and resting his head on Will's thigh. Will sets the pen cap down and drops his hand to pet over the dog's soft fur, between his eyes, and Winston wags his tail.

"You got me in a lot of trouble, you know," Will says mildly, turning his attention back to the paper he's currently grading. "You can't keep running off like that."

Winston huffs, his breath warm on Will's stomach. He licks his nose and looks up at Will with the best puppy eyes Will has ever seen. Suck-up.

Will smiles, and uses his thigh to nudge him away with a click of his tongue. "Bed," he says. Winston goes back to the beds, Buster limping along behind. He's healing well, thank goodness, and has behaved and not messed with his bandages, which is good. He's far better behaved about being injured than Will had been.

Will sighs, rubbing his hand over his face, and leans back over the paper. He flattens his hand along the corner, folding a crease where it was stapled for him to keep track of whose paper was whose. This one belongs to a young hopeful named Amanda. She's one of the ones who sits in the front row, and smells like apples. Will smiles, curling his fingers around the pen cap, and brings it back to his mouth to gnaw on.

 

 

It's almost three in the morning when Will finally finishes. He sighs, throwing the pen down, his hand cramping after so long without doing any work. He rubs his thumb into the palm of his hand, grunting, and looks outside. His porch light isn't on, and he can see the green lights of the intersection a little way away, just glinting through the black maw of the trees.

He sighs, tired to the bone, and pushes himself upright. Hannibal hadn't visited all day and Will tries to swallow back his disappointment and the insistent need to call him, to hear his voice. Which is insane – Hannibal is most certainly asleep and wouldn't appreciate being woken, even if it was Will calling him.

When Will stands, Addy lifts her head and wags her tail, pushing herself to her feet. "Gotta go?" he asks her, and she trots over to the door and sits down, waiting patiently for him. Will walks to it, pushing his feet into a pair of shoes, and shrugs on a coat so he can stay warm while she goes to the bathroom.

He opens the door for her and she goes outside, her mottled coat standing out in stark white splotches as she noses around the front of his house, looking for a good place to mark. Will sighs, rubbing his hands together. She comes back quickly, thankfully, and just as he is about to go back inside, he freezes.

"Hello?"

Will frowns, turning around to try and see a source for the voice. It's high-pitched, female, and echoes across the vast emptiness of his field. Will bites his lower lip and flicks the porch light on, but he sees nothing.

"Hello?" the woman calls again.

Will zips up his coat and goes inside to grab a flashlight and his phone. He closes the door behind him. "Hello?" he yells, cupping his hands to his mouth so that it comes out louder. He looks around, squinting into the darkness, and turns on his flashlight in the hopes of revealing a figure amidst the black. He doesn't see anything.

"…Can you hear me?" the woman calls, and Will presses his lips together. This isn't the first time he's imagined something like this, and he swallows back the anxiety curling up in his chest.

"I can hear you," he replies, projecting as much as he can. He swings the light of the flashlight around and circles his house, looking towards the barn. He looks around for signs of a person – tracks or motion or anything else – but finds nothing but those of himself, and of his dogs. "Where are you?"

Silence meets him, and Will shivers, pulling out his phone and pressing 'Record'. If he is imagining the voice, his phone won't pick up anything.

"Hello?" he calls again. "Where are you?"

"I'm over here," the woman says, and Will swings around, sure that the voice is coming from the trees. He looks down at his phone. He doesn't see anything that tells him the phone is picking up sound aside from his footsteps and his own voice. "Hello?" the woman calls, and the phone doesn't react.

It's in his head. It has to be. "Go away," Will yells, and shuts off his flashlight and goes back inside. If he's starting to hallucinate again, that means something is wrong with him. He might be getting sick. Hannibal would be worried to death if he saw Will like this.

Addy lifts her head and woofs at Will, fluffy tail swishing from side to side. Will shuts off his phone and sits back at his table, his nails curling along the edges of the stack of finished papers.

"It's not real," he tells her. Her ears prick forward at the sound of his voice, and Will sighs, bowing his head and rubbing his hands over his face.

He looks up when he hears Winston growl. Winston's eyes are on the door, his lips pulled back and muzzle wrinkling to show his teeth. Will shivers and stands, closing the curtains with a tight hiss. He locks the door and turns off the lights, peeking through the curtains for one final look.

"Hello?" the woman's voice calls, and Will shies back, closing the curtains forcefully. He checks the lock on the back door, making sure it's secure, and returns to the living room.

He wades into the center of the dog beds. They huff at him, shifting to make room, as Will sits down, and then lays on his side, his head pillowed on Winston's flank.

Winston looks at him, panting softly, and licks Will's hand when Will pets him.

Will manages a tight smile, and closes his eyes when Addy lays down behind him, her head on his injured thigh. "Good dogs."

 

 

Will looks up when he hears his front door unlocking, stifling a low growl until he smells Hannibal's cologne, and relaxes. Hannibal enters his house, receiving a welcoming sniff from Buster and Winston. He pets their heads and catches Will's eye, his smile widening when Will meets his gaze.

"Good morning, Will," he murmurs.

Will presses his lips together and looks down at the stack of papers under his hands. He has both hands pressed flat to them, and curls his fingers, nails digging in. "I have a problem," he says.

Hannibal cocks his head to one side, brow furrowing in concern. He closes the door and sits at the other chair at Will's table. His bag smells good, like warm meat, onions, and eggs. Will takes a deep breath, his stomach rumbling. He's _starving_.

"What's the matter?" Hannibal asks, resting his elbows on the table and lacing his fingers together.

Will sucks in a breath, his eyes flashing to the stack of pens by his papers. They've all been chewed to oblivion. "I, um." He licks his lips, raising his eyes to meet Hannibal's. "I don't really know how to explain it."

Hannibal tilts his head to one side, the worry deepening in his eyes. He looks down at the pile of chewed pens and raises his eyebrows. "Perhaps you should start by telling me what the problem is, and we can go from there."

Will clears his throat and looks down at his hands. "It's taking everything I have not to tear these papers apart," he says.

Hannibal huffs a laugh. "That bad, are they?" he says, smiling.

"No, you don't -." Will shakes his head once, sharply, and bares his teeth. "That's not what I mean."

Hannibal frowns.

"I want to…bite something," Will says. "I almost ate three pen caps last night."

Hannibal blinks at him, straightening up. "Do you…want to eat these papers, Will?"

Will swallows, gritting his teeth. He lets out a helpless whine and closes his eyes. "I'm losing my Goddamn mind."

"Here." Hannibal reaches forward and Will's eyes open quickly. He curls his fingers around the stack of papers and growls at Hannibal when he tries to take them. Hannibal pauses, his eyes wide, and Will pulls the papers to his chest defensively.

"No," Will mutters. "These are mine."

"Will," Hannibal says, more sharply. "Drop them."

Will blinks, setting the papers down immediately, without conscious thought or permission from his head. Hannibal takes them and slides them in front of him, out of Will's reach. Will swallows, rubbing his hands over his face.

"What the Hell is happening to me?" he whispers.

Hannibal presses his lips together. Will can see that he's thinking, and hard; the same calculating looks he has when he's eyeing up their next meal. "Come, you need to eat something," he says, and reaches into his bag, pulling out a large container of his egg scramble, with sausage and onions and peppers. Will's stomach rumbles and he takes the container and the fork Hannibal offers him, tucking in readily.

"I got a quote from a construction crew that would be able to build a kennel for us," Hannibal says, and Will hums. "They'll be starting work today."

Will nods, his mouth too full to answer. He wipes the back of his hand over his mouth and takes another bite, hardly leaving time to chew and swallow. Hannibal watches him eat, his lips tight with concern. "Jack called me," he adds, and Will looks up. "I hadn't told him you were feeling better yet, so he forwarded me details of the abduction cases. Apparently, their home locations all put them within a short driving distance to a dog park in Annapolis."

"A dog park," Will replies. "That's…good news, isn't it?"

"Yes," Hannibal murmurs. "But there have been no new disappearances this month. Whatever happened this last full moon, it was out of the ordinary."

Will nods, looking down at his food.

"Will, you must tell me what's worrying you," Hannibal says, reaching forward to take Will's free hand in a gentle grip. "I can see it like a weight on your shoulders."

Will sighs. "I heard voices last night," he says. Hannibal tilts his head to one side, frowning. "Well, one voice. A woman's voice. But I think it was in my head. I recorded it on my phone and it didn't pick anything up."

"What did this voice say?"

"She was just calling for me," Will replies. "Sounded like it was coming from the trees."

Hannibal nods, sitting back and releasing Will's hand. Will's fingers curl and he resists the urge to whine, to pull Hannibal closer to him again. He hasn't felt this off-kilter since the last time he got really sick, started hearing and seeing things he couldn't explain.

Hannibal reaches up and tugs on the curtains, opening one side to allow light to peek through. Will swallows and turns his attention back to his food. "We can go check, after you've eaten," he offers.

Will shakes his head. "No," he replies. "Giving these hallucinations credence gives them power. I'm not sick. I feel fine."

"But you don't feel fine," Hannibal says. He pauses, and sighs. "Alana spoke to me."

Will grits his teeth, rolling his eyes. "Of course she did," he replies, and spears a piece of sausage a little more vehemently than necessary.

"She told me you were worried about your changes in behavior."

"I spoke rashly," Will argues. "I was just scared. But I'm fine now."

"Will, please, I see no reason why you feel the need to lie to me," Hannibal presses, leaning forward again and resting his forearms on the table. "You're growing teeth, healing far too quickly, and now you're hearing voices that aren't there. I'm very worried for you, darling."

Will growls, raising his eyes, and sets his fork down with deliberate care because if he does what he wants, he'll end up stabbing the table with it. He swallows and rubs his hands over his mouth, meeting Hannibal's dark gaze. "There are rational explanations for those things," he says quietly.

"I never suggested there wasn't," Hannibal replies.

"But you did," Will says, low and accusing. "You inferred it." Hannibal sighs, lifting his folded hands to rest against his chin. "Tell me, Doctor Lecter," Will challenges. "I can see you have a diagnosis in mind."

Hannibal sighs again.

"Behavioral changes," he begins, listing each thing off like items on a medical chart. "Increased appetite. Spontaneous teeth growth. Remarkable healing. Heightened sense of smell and hearing." Will frowns. "You've been digging, sniffing people, and were just now fighting the urge to eat your students' essays. And you were scratched by a strange dog-like creature on the night of the full moon." Hannibal tilts his head to one side and shrugs. "If this was a movie, what do you think would be the result?"

Will blinks at him, for a moment struck completely dumb by what Hannibal is implying. He laughs, first softly, then almost hysterical. "You can't be serious," he says. "Come on, Doctor Lecter," Will breathes weakly, "you think I somehow caught this lycanthrope delusion?"

"Well, your ability to empathize with killers and our abductor is remarkable, and I wouldn't put it past you," Hannibal says with a smile, "but if we are to also incorporate the physical evidence into this case, I don't think it can be explained away so easily. Perhaps it would be appropriate to consider the possibility that this isn't a delusion at all."

"You've been reading too many books," Will replies tightly, shaking his head. "This isn't…. You're talking about werewolves," he hisses, and Hannibal nods. "Werewolves aren't real."

"Sir Arthur Conan Doyle wrote; 'Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth'," Hannibal replies mildly, spreading his hands out in an open gesture. "Will, you cannot deny that your behavior these past few days has been drastically altered, and we cannot ignore the fact that this abductor's pattern was broken the same night you were attacked. He might have come back for you, had I not been here."

"But that's insane, Hannibal," Will growls, sitting forward. Hannibal meets his gaze, the ghost of a fond smile on his face. "You're talking about fairy tales!"

"Well, perhaps there is a way to prove it," Hannibal replies. Will blinks at him, tilting his head to one side. "We could do some tests and see if there are any physical changes to your DNA, or run an MRI on you. I'm confident, if there was anything abnormal, we would be able to find it."

"I -."

" _And_ ," Hannibal continues, sitting forward and cupping Will's hands. "If that's not the case," he adds, brushing his thumbs over Will's knuckles. Will shivers, biting his lower lip. "And if you think there might be something wrong with you that lies within the realm of medicine, we will find it sooner rather than later."

…At least that part makes sense. Will huffs, shaking his head, his fingers curling between Hannibal's. "I don't want to go back to the hospital," he whines.

Hannibal smiles, apologetic. "I know, darling," he replies, and stands, circling the table and coming to a stop beside Will. He cups Will's neck and Will gasps, bowing his head forward as Hannibal slides a hand through his hair, knotting his fingers gently. "But it will provide us answers, one way or the other. Unless you want to wait until the full moon to prove me wrong."

That, at least, manages to conjure a laugh from Will. He closes his eyes and turns his head, nuzzling Hannibal's hip. "Fine," he mutters, and hears Hannibal's hum of approval. "But when the tests come back and I'm bona-fide human, you have to promise to shut up about this whole werewolf nonsense."

"I promise," Hannibal says, bowing down to kiss Will's forehead. Will smiles, and leans up for a proper kiss. "And I will be sure to reward you for good behavior."


	6. Chapter 6

"Will? Darling?"

Will looks up, swallowing and hurriedly hiding the plastic spatula behind him as Hannibal enters the kitchen. Hannibal blinks at him, head tilted to one side, and sets Will's bag down on the floor at his feet. Will had agreed to start moving some of his clothes to Hannibal's home, knowing that if his tests should come back for the worse, being under Hannibal's care would be much safer than the company of his dogs. He'd packed himself a suitcase but was driven to distraction.

Hannibal straightens up and hooks the fingers of one hand around the opposite wrist, his hands in front of him like he's a stern schoolmaster ready to dish out a strict lesson. Will swallows again, unable to hold Hannibal's eyes, and fixes them instead on his shoes.

"What do you have?" Hannibal asks. "And why do you feel the need to hide it from me?"

"I don't know," Will replies, biting his lower lip harshly. Hannibal's tone is gentle, and instinctively Will wants to let himself be soothed, but he's also aware of how very _not_ like himself this is, and he can't shake off the feeling that he's about to be in trouble.

Hannibal presses his lips together and holds out a hand. "Show me," he says.

Will hesitates, but slowly pulls the spatula from behind his back. It's a cheap thing, bought on sale from a Wal-Mart when Will first moved into his house, and the handle is burned from when he accidentally left it on the stovetop once. It's so old and battered that even when perfectly clean, it still stinks somewhat of grease.

Hannibal blinks, obviously not expecting that, and drops his hand. He huffs a somewhat strained laugh. "The way you were acting, I was expecting a bloody knife or some such thing."

"That would be easier to show you," Will says, looking down at the spatula. His fingers curl tightly around it as he clenches his jaw. His teeth ache, but not in pain like they did before he got his fever. More like the need for pressure, the urge to gnaw on something to keep his canines sharp.

"What do you want to do with that, Will?" Hannibal asks.

"I want to chew on it," Will replies shortly, forcing the words out before he can hesitate on them a moment longer. He looks up at Hannibal and lets out a helpless noise. "I feel like I'm losing my mind."

"Will -."

"What if you're right?" Will asks, his eyes on the spatula again. Even now it's taking everything he has not to sink his teeth into the flat edge of it, tear the plastic apart piece by tiny piece until the urge is satisfied. ""What if I'm becoming this…thing? An animal?"

"I don't believe that will happen," Hannibal replies. "If you are what I think you are, there will be days you are more beast than man, but -."

"But _what_?" Will spits, baring his teeth when he meets Hannibal's gaze. He subsides immediately, stepping back until his lower back hits the countertop. He sighs and runs shaking hands through his hair. "I'm sorry," he says.

"Will," Hannibal murmurs, stepping forward and cupping Will's face. Will's breath catches at the gentle touch and his face burns with embarrassment, that he would show such weakness over such a stupid, _impossible_ thing. "I truly believe that there is nothing you and I cannot overcome, together. Do you share my belief?"

Will closes his eyes and rests his forehead against Hannibal's. "Yes," he replies. "But this is different. This isn't some outside threat. I'm changing. What if I just turn into an animal, no more intelligent that a rabid dog?"

"I would still love you," Hannibal replies. "As I always have, at every stage of your evolution."

Will whines. "I would not have you keep me as a pet," he bites out.

"Your self-awareness is promising," Hannibal says, turning Will's jaw up and forcing their eyes to meet. Will meets his gaze, relieved beyond breath to see that it genuinely doesn't look like Hannibal is worried. Concerned, yes, as he always is when it comes to threats against Will's wellbeing, but when he speaks, Will can tell he's not lying to calm Will's nerves; "And if another werewolf turned you, that means they move and operate within the area. It would be impossible to exist as a mere animal at all other times than the full moon. So, I can only assume that for all intents and purposes, except that night, this abductor is the same as any other man."

Will manages a smile. "Wishful thinking," he says, reaching up with his free hand to pet Hannibal's hair from his face. "You're always the optimist."

"It's easy to be optimistic when you're sure of the future," Hannibal replies. Will's smile widens, and he huffs a laugh.

"Don't get cocky," he says, pushing himself upright, and Hannibal lets him go. "You caught me in a moment of weakness. I'm still not convinced that this crazy fairy tale of yours is true."

"Well then, let's hasten to prove me wrong," Hannibal says, and holds out a hand for Will. Will takes it, and Hannibal grabs his suitcase, and they leave Will's house. Will takes the spatula with him.

 

 

Will spends most of the drive chewing on the edge of the flat part of the spatula. Hannibal, to his credit, doesn't comment, which Will appreciates. This is weird enough without Hannibal trying to engage in conversation like 'So how does it taste?' or 'Is that satisfying?' or, even worse, making a comment about something like oral fixations.

He frowns when Hannibal takes the turn off the highway, not towards the hospital, but towards the BSU.

"Where are we going?"

"You said no hospitals," Hannibal replies, looking over for a brief moment to smile at Will. He reaches out and settles a hand on Will's thigh. "The lab has everything we would need to confirm the presence of canine DNA in you."

"What if I need an MRI?" Will asks.

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

Will hums, warmth blossoming thick in his chest at the fact that, despite everything, Hannibal is still doing his best to keep Will away from a hospital because he knows how much Will hates them. Hannibal can be incredibly conscientious with the right incentive.

"Thank you," he murmurs, resting one hand on Hannibal's and brushing his thumb over Hannibal's knuckles. "That means a lot."

"There is very little I would not do for the sake of your happiness, my dear," Hannibal replies.

Will smiles. "I know," he replies quietly, lifting Hannibal's hand from his thigh to kiss Hannibal's knuckles. He closes his eyes, letting Hannibal's fingers curl around his own, and presses his nose to his skin, breathing in deeply. "But that's not all I'm thanking you for. I can't imagine what might have happened to me, or how I'd react, if I didn't have you."

"Whatever this change, and whatever has caused it, I will admit there's a great personal gain for me," Hannibal says. Will lets his hand fall to the more natural place on his thigh, letting go of the spatula so he can hold Hannibal's hand with both of his own.

"You like taking care of me," Will says, knowing that it's true.

"I do," Hannibal replies. "But I also enjoy you; your presence, your affection, it is something I have always craved and no matter how much I received, I was never satisfied. Now you want to live with me, and truthfully I consider it a great gift."

Will smiles, though it's small and tight. "I had no idea I tortured you so much."

"You were always clear with your boundaries. It's not your fault that I'm selfish."

"I hate the idea of being away from you," Will says. "I always have. To say that this behavior is brand new would be…shallow." He turns to look at Hannibal, and Hannibal regards him for a moment before he must put his eyes on the road. "I clung to the idea of agency and thought that the only way I could keep it was to have distance along with it. Now, I cannot think of a single reason to justify that decision."

"Animals live without inhibition," Hannibal murmurs, turning his hand over to place his palm against Will's.

Will huffs. "No inhibition," he repeats. "That's one way to put it. I asked you for sex in the middle of the cafeteria, in broad daylight."

Hannibal smiles. "Yes," he replies, and shifts his weight in his seat. "And I would have seen you satisfied."

Will blinks at him. "Really?" he breathes.

Hannibal nods, pressing his lips together, and squeezes Will's hand. "You shouldn't say things like that to me," Will says. "Especially if what you theorize is true, and I'm to become more like an animal the closer the full moon gets."

"I'm going to take care of you," Hannibal replies. "Just as I cultivated and nurtured your transformation when we first met, I shall do so again. It is not a burden, Will, but a privilege."

Will huffs, smiling down at his lap. He takes one hand from Hannibal's and grabs the spatula again, which is shiny with his saliva and will rightfully never serve its original purpose ever again, too mangled by Will's sharp teeth. He sits back in his seat and starts to chew on the edge once more.

 

 

They pull up outside the BSU and Hannibal turns to Will, fishing out a plastic bag and a Q-tip from his pocket, as well as a small pair of scissors.

Will raises his eyebrows, seeing them. "Always the Boy Scout," he mutters.

Hannibal smiles. "Open," he says, and Will obeys, allowing Hannibal to swab the inside of his cheek. He resists the urge to bite down with what feels like all his might. Hannibal puts it in the bag, and cuts a small curl from behind Will's ear and places it inside as well.

"I wouldn't have Beverly or anyone else present see that these samples came from you," he explains. "If it does show up as anything other than human, we don't want to arouse suspicion."

"I understand," Will murmurs. He gets out of the car, leaving the spatula behind, and rubs at the inside of his cheek where the Q-tip touched. He shakes his head and sighs when Hannibal falls into step beside him and they enter the building.

"Will!" It's Jack, and Will's head snaps up to regard him on the top balcony which runs around the edge of the office, like the second floor in Hannibal's study. Jack beckons him to join and goes into his office, and Will looks at Hannibal.

"I'll see the tests done," Hannibal says, setting a hand on Will's shoulder and squeezing gently. Will whines, his fingers curling. "I'll meet you back here after Jack speaks to you."

Will nods, sighing when Hannibal's touch retreats and he heads towards the elevators leading to the lab. He hates watching him go, and wants to follow, but Jack is calling him, and Will must answer.

He goes up the stairs and into Jack's office, closing the door behind him at Jack's behest. "Will, have a seat," Jack says, and Will nods, plopping down into the first chair. It feels different when Hannibal tells him to sit, for reasons Will is in no mood to examine. "Good to see you up and about. How's the leg?"

"Better," Will replies with a tight smile. "Thanks."

Jack nods, folding his hands on the edge of his desk and leaning forward. Will's eyes track to the set of pens beside his hands, and he bites his lower lip and resists the urge to ask for one to chew on. He slides his hands down his thighs, knowing he needs to be patient.

"Hannibal told me your theory," Jack says, straight to the point as Will has always appreciated about him. Will nods. "I'll admit, I was dubious, but there does seem to be some common connection between all the missing persons."

"The dog park," Will replies. "He told me."

"That's not all," Jack says. "It got me thinking. The location was a good baseline, but there's also a veterinary clinic two blocks from the dog park. A substantial amount of our missing persons had appointments with their pets there days before their disappearance."

Will presses his lips together. "So that's how he's choosing them," he says. "Pet owners. He might be an employee, or someone with an animal of his own that takes them there."

"Yes," Jack confirms. "I'm having the records pulled as to the nature of each visit. He might be harming the animals in order to lure in the victims."

Will frowns, uncomfortable at the idea. "Take out their first line of defense," he says. "No dog to warn of intruders, or bark at a break-in."

And Buster had been injured, Winston missing, the night Will was attacked. If Will hadn't had other animals to warn him, who knows what might have happened.

Jack nods again. "If you're up for it, I'd like you to go interview the employees. See if anyone calls for days off in a pattern, or if there's anyone that might be a suspect."

"Of course," Will says. "I have classes today, but I can check out the dog park after, and interview the clinic staff tomorrow."

"Good," Jack says, nodding. "See it done."

Will stands, and turns to leave. "Oh, Will?" He stops, his hand on the door. "There still hasn't been any new missing persons that match the description reported, and no bodies have shown up. If this guy is under the…what did you call it?"

"The lycanthrope delusion," Will says, mouth dry.

"Right. That. What do you think he's doing with them?"

Will swallows. "He's forming a pack," he replies, looking at Jack over his shoulder. "If he wins their loyalty, there would be no reason to run from him. He's an Alpha, in command and in control. He wouldn't kill them unless he had to."

Jack hums. "What do you think would press such a man, to shed blood?" he asks.

"I'm not sure, Jack," Will replies. "But he would only take enough to make sure he could control them. He won't overreach."

Jack nods. "Thank you, Will. That'll be all," he says, and Will nods, opening the door and leaving.

Hannibal is at the foot of the stairs when Will goes down them. The look on his face tells Will all he needs to know.

"No," he says weakly.

Hannibal sighs, shaking his head. He holds an arm out and Will sags against him, burying his face in Hannibal's chest, his breath coming shakily. It's far from the place for such an intimate moment, but Will isn't sure he can make his legs work long enough to get them outside.

"Canine," Hannibal confirms, and Will lets out another shaky breath.

"I can't believe this," Will says. He pulls back and lifts his eyes. "There's no doubt?"

Hannibal shakes his head again, cupping Will's face. "None," he replies. Will bites his lower lip, looking down. He wants to curl up and hide from the truth. He wants to run, and keep running until his lungs seize and his heart gives out.

Hannibal's fingers tighten, forcing him to raise his eyes again. "We'll handle it," he vows. "I'm going to take care of you."

"I know," Will replies, taking in an unsteady breath. "I…I need go outside."

Hannibal nods, releasing Will and taking his hand, leading him out of the BSU doors. The air is bright and warm, thunderstorms promising on the horizon. It smells like rain and dirt and Will takes in a deep breath.

"Will you do something for me?" he asks.

"Anything," Hannibal replies.

"Can you call the university and tell them I can't go to class? I have the papers graded. Can you deliver them and have them arrange a substitute?"

Hannibal frowns. "Of course," he says. "Would you like me to go alone?"

"No," Will replies honestly. "But I need to…to think about this. I'm going to go for a walk, or something. I need to clear my head."

Hannibal sighs, pressing his lips together. He cups Will's face and presses a kiss to his forehead. "You have your phone?" he asks, and Will nods. "Let me know when you want to be picked up."

"Thank you," Will replies softly. He manages a weak smile, touching his hand to Hannibal's chest, before he draws away. "I'll call you later."

"Be safe," Hannibal says, and turns and walks to his car.

Will doesn't watch him go. His blood is burning, and he wants to run. He turns away from the BSU, and walks out towards the street, picking any direction and following the sidewalk. His heart is pounding in his chest, something toeing the line between an anxiety attack and dreadful truth curling up tight behind his ribs.

At some point he could not name, he stops walking, and starts running. He sprints down the sidewalks and past gardens, through crowded city streets and towards the nearest park he remembers seeing. He is sure he looks out of place, dressed in slacks and a button-down in preparation to teach, but he doesn't care about the odd looks he receives, the people who move just a little too swiftly out of his way. He runs until his legs shake, his knees feel weak and threaten to buckle at every step. He runs until sweat darkens his clothes and makes them cling, until his heartbeat is the only thing he can hear, and each breath is ragged and uncontrolled.

He runs out of the city, finds the highway and dives for the trees beside it, climbs the steep verge until he cannot be seen from the road. The dirt is warm under his nails and between his fingers, the way the twigs snap under his feet and branches claw at his arms and face invigorates him and pushes him onward. He runs until the sun is low in the sky and he sees the sign that marks the border of Virginia.

There, he stops, hardly able to get air through his teeth, and falls to his knees. He puts his head in his hands and collapses against a tree, curling up tightly enough that he might be crushed into nothingness under the weight of this new truth.

He's a werewolf. A Goddamn _werewolf_.

Even as he thinks it, he feels the truth of it in his bones. The desire to chew things, the need to be with his mate, the increased appetite, new teeth, fast healing. It all makes sense in this crazy new world where things like werewolves exist.

His head burns from trying to force tears back, but he lets them fall now. They are not sorrow-filled. Even now, it does not feel like loss; merely a man's reaction to something terribly unknown. This is fear, he thinks, pure terror of what might happen to him now, all the new secrets he will have to keep and the things he needs to worry about.

He thinks back to the dog that scratched him. It can't have been on purpose, he doesn't believe that's the case. It was a crime of passion, some wild animal who saw a threat and tried to subdue it. That might be him when the next full moon rises. He thinks to the woman's voice he'd heard, calling for him in the night, and wonders if it wasn't a case of being in his head, but perhaps something only he could hear. The cry of something like him; blood calling for blood.

He needs to find the person who has been doing this. If every missing person has been turned, it means there are a pack of things just like him who threaten the citizens of Baltimore, and if that pack grows, they will spread to D.C., to Roanoke, to Charlotte, Atlanta, New York. And that's assuming this is the only pack there is – there might be others, scattered all around the world and birthing stories in literature and media; the worst-kept secret in human history.

He curls his fingers tightly in his hair, tugging at it with a low growl. He has to find the Alpha. If he finds the Alpha, he can stop him from turning anyone else. And, maybe, find out if there's a cure.

He will have to be very careful. One wayward scratch or bite, and Will could be just as dangerous to the people he loves. Hannibal, and Alana, they're in danger with him around. He will have to be very careful and make preparations if he cannot find a cure before the next full moon.

 

 

He stays in the trees until the sun sets and the air gets cold without it to provide warmth. He shivers, wiping the tears from his face, and takes a deep, purposeful breath. He has had his time to mourn, and Hannibal will likely be sick with worry.

He pulls out his phone, finding no missed calls or unread texts, and smiles. It is a habit hard-trained that he forced onto Hannibal, not to bother him when Will asks for space. A concession he has always appreciated until now.

He calls Hannibal, letting out a relieved breath when Hannibal answers immediately. "Good evening, Will," he says, and he sounds calm. Which is comforting. If Hannibal isn't afraid, isn't panicking, then Will knows he has no reason to panic either. Hannibal is a rock, and no deadly ocean wave or blow could shake him.

"Hi," he whispers, his throat sore from emotion.

"Are you ready for me to come get you?" Hannibal asks.

"Yes," Will replies. Now that the fear has faded, other needs present themselves to Will. His sore muscles, his aching chest, and the low throb of hunger in his stomach to name a few. "I'm on the 495, at the sign on the border."

Hannibal pauses. "Alright," he says. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

Will nods, biting his lower lip. He ends the call and pushes himself to his feet, and waits ten minutes before climbing down to the edge of the highway. There is a thick shoulder and he perches on the guard rail, knowing that those in the Northern Virginia area are less than keen to approach apparent hitchhikers.

Hannibal pulls up twenty minutes later, his hi-beams flashing to catch Will's attention. He gets out of the car and Will smiles, walking over on unsteady legs, and climbs into the car.

Hannibal gets back in, regarding him with a mix of surprise and concern. "You ran all this way?" he asks.

Will nods, picking an errant leaf out of his hair and throwing it out of the window. Hannibal puts on his hazards and starts driving on the shoulder, until the next exit lane appears, which he takes to get off the beltway.

"So," Will says after another moment of companionable silence. "I guess you were right."

Hannibal nods. "I wish I wasn't, if only to put your mind at ease."

"I'd rather know what's wrong with me," Will replies. "If you had been wrong, it would have pointed towards something much worse."

Hannibal smiles, though it's strained.

"Jack told me there's a vet clinic that our victims had in common," Will adds. "I'm going to interview the employees tomorrow, and case the dog park."

"Would you like me to accompany you?"

"I've kept you from your appointments long enough," Will replies.

Hannibal nods. "I suppose."

"I appreciate the offer," Will adds, looking at Hannibal. He's bathed in the occasional glow of oncoming traffic, and the backlit consoles of the car. Will reaches out and rests his hand on Hannibal's thigh. "And I wish you could be with me all the time."

Hannibal blinks, a wave of surprised joy crossing his face before he schools his expression. But Will sees it. He sighs. "I've been so cruel to you," he whispers.

Hannibal gives him a brief look, unable to hold his gaze since he's driving. "Cruel?" he repeats.

"If what I'm allowed to feel for you now is even half of what you feel for me, then yes," Will replies. "I would see that change."

"How so?"

"Until we know if this is permanent, I will embrace it as much as I am able," Will promises. "My affection and my love. I will ration neither. If…what I am is who I am now, and you will still have me, when I will hold nothing back."

Hannibal is silent, but Will hears the way his breath shakes, sees his mouth tremble. Hannibal drops his hand to Will's and lifts it, kissing Will's knuckles. "You continue to surprise me," he whispers, soft with emotion. With joy.

Will smiles, and brushes his fingers along Hannibal's jaw, before he returns his hands to his lap and sets his eyes forward.

"You're happy about it now," he says, trying to keep the mood light and save Hannibal the distraction. "Wait until I start shedding on the couch and eating your shoes."

"You wouldn't _dare_ ," Hannibal says, his horror only thinly veiled behind a teasing tone.

Will laughs. "I guess we'll see."


	7. Chapter 7

Will stirs in his bed, turning onto his side and seeking Hannibal's warmth and strength next to him, frowning when he finds neither. He opens his eyes and rubs at his face, letting out a soft whine of distress when he sees that Hannibal is not in the room with him. The light in his bathroom is off, and the door is open, telling him Hannibal is not there either.

He rolls over again and frowns towards the window, where the pink light of dawn is just coloring the sky. He reaches out and paws at his phone, pressing the home button just long enough for the white letters to tell him that it's just past five in the morning.

He rises from the bed, running his hands through his hair, and follows his nose out of the room, down the stairs, where he sees a light from Hannibal's study. The door is half-closed, flickering firelight the only glow, which is gentle on his strained eyes. He goes to the door and opens it.

Hannibal is sitting in one of the chairs, and looks up at movement, a smile ghosting over his face when he takes in Will's disheveled state. "Good morning, Will," he says. He has his iPad on his lap, and closes the cover, setting it to one side and sitting forward as Will approaches.

Will takes both of Hannibal's hands, raising them to his chest, and manages a weak smile. "Couldn't sleep?" he asks.

Hannibal shakes his head. He pushes himself upright and frees his hands, wrapping them around Will's shoulders instead and pulling him into a loose embrace. Will sighs, nuzzling his exposed collarbone, and presses a kiss to his chest. "How are you feeling?"

"Alright," Will replies. And that is true. Now that he knows what's wrong with him, the fear of the unknown has faded. In its place has formed steely resolve; he will find the Alpha wolf, he will find out if there's a cure for his new nature, and deal with all the things that come with it in between. "Hungry."

Hannibal smiles, and kisses his forehead. "Let's get you something to eat, then."

He draws away and leads the way into the kitchen, and Will follows, taking a seat at one of the bar stools at the kitchen island. "I'm going to eat you out of house and home," he mutters as Hannibal sets a glass of water in front of him.

Hannibal laughs. "A price willingly paid," he replies, and opens the refrigerator, pulling out a package of ground beef – actually beef, Will notes, spying the label from the grocery store on the plastic – and sets it by the oven. "I would not see you starve."

Will huffs, pulling the glass of water to him and tilting it so that he can drink without raising it from the counter. "What were you looking at?" he asks.

Hannibal turns on one of the burners and takes out a pan, pouring some oil into it to fry the meat in. "I was reading about werewolves," he replies. Will presses his lips together and lets out a hum of question. "There is a vast collection of lore on the subject. I'm not sure how much of it could possibly be true, but I've found a lot of it to be…less than promising."

"How so?" Will asks.

"Most of the legends speak of a wild beast, overcome by their nature, and show a complete inability to adapt to society." Will frowns. "I'm hesitant to apply any of it to you."

"Hesitant," Will repeats.

Hannibal nods, giving him a brief look over his shoulder, before he unwraps the meat and sets it in the pan. He takes a wooden spoon to break it apart and Will lifts his chin, his mouth watering at the scent of cooking meat. "Whether it's because the full moon isn't upon us or not, I cannot say, but I hardly think you fit the profile of a wild animal."

"You're right," Will huffs. "I'm more like a puppy at this point. A house pet."

Hannibal lets out a soft, disapproving noise, and turns away from the meat to regard Will fully. "That's not what I meant," he says.

"But it's true, isn't it?" Will replies with a shake of his head.

"Only if you believe it to be so."

Will smiles, bending down to take another drink of water. Hannibal returns his attention to the cooking meat, stirring it, the sounds of the meat frying fill the air. "I wonder if my diet is affecting me," Will adds after a moment. "My desire for human flesh is happily sated under your care."

"We could experiment," Hannibal suggests. "And see if, after eating only more generic meat, your hunger gets worse or your instincts prove more aggressive."

Will winces. "I'm inclined to agree," he says, "but the effects could prove less than optimal."

Hannibal nods. "It's your choice."

"I think if there's anything that would help me control this, then we should do it," Will replies. "And I wouldn't ask you to change your diet any more than you would ask me to change mine." Hannibal doesn't respond except to nod again, his attention on the food, and Will straightens up and looks out to the back yard, visible through the sliding patio door. Within Hannibal's garden is a dark patch of dug-up earth, in a square, with posts and tape around the edges to warn of its existence. "Did the contractor say how long the kennel would take?"

"I'm having them pour concrete to make the base. The rest of the structure will be wood and fencing, and I've ordered the roof to be made of glass to allow heat retention and light." Will smiles, pleased at that. "The space will be large enough for four dogs to sleep comfortably."

"Four?" Will asks. That's half the size of his pack.

"Yes," Hannibal replies. "I know you'll want to keep Winston, and I imagine the little one will be kept until he is healed, and longer if you wanted to keep him, but I didn't want to force you to limit yourself."

"I want to keep Addy," Will says with a nod. "We should keep the fourth spot free."

Hannibal nods. Will imagines he understands why, without Will having to say it.

Hannibal takes an onion from the fridge and slices it, adding it to the meat in little chunks. The scent is overpowering and Will swallows back his mouthful of saliva, his stomach aching sharply with hunger. He takes another drink of water to try and sate it for now.

"There's something else I want to talk about," Will adds after another moment of companionable silence. Hannibal turns to give him a brief look. "I think we should get something to…neutralize danger."

"Danger?" Hannibal repeats, scooping the meat out of the pan and into a bowl. He takes out a fork and sets the bowl in front of Will. Will breathes in deeply, growling with hunger, and begins to eat.

He nods when Hannibal doesn't press for another answer. "When the full moon comes, if I'm anything close to the dog that scratched me, it would be good to make sure I couldn't hurt you," he says. "Or anyone else."

"I've thought about that, too," Hannibal says mildly. Will frowns at him, and Hannibal smiles, circling the counter and going back to his study to retrieve his iPad. He opens it and clicks to a second tab and sets it down in front of Will.

Will chokes, his cheeks turning red when he sees that Hannibal has apparently navigated to what he could only really call a fetish site. The rows of people wearing dog-like leather muzzles are numerous, and Will swallows tightly, setting his fork down. There are also, he notes, leather dog gloves that mimic paws and are designed to fit over a human hand.

"You want to muzzle me," he says quietly, and isn't sure if his emotions lie closer to intrigue or revulsion at the sight.

Hannibal settles a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently, and kisses the top of his head. Will shivers, leaning back against his chest, his eyelids drooping at the soft touch. "Only if you feel you need it," Hannibal replies, his voice gentle. "And only during the full moon."

"If I turn into a dog, these won't fit me," Will replies, scrolling down the pictures despite himself. His attitude is turning more towards curious as he looks. There is one picture, of a young man on all fours with a muzzle on his face, a collar stark on his throat, a leash held by a man standing out of frame. He thinks back to Hannibal's comment about a collar and leash and another tremor runs down his spine.

"If we did go this route, I'd commission one that would," Hannibal says.

Will huffs, smiling. "You've been thinking about this."

"I've been thinking about a lot of things," Hannibal murmurs. His hand flattens on Will's nape, fingers sliding to the side of his neck to brush under his jaw. Will bites his lower lip, his mouth going dry. "I won't say I delight in your condition, but the possibility of seeing you in something like this holds some allure for me."

"You're kinkier than I gave you credit for," Will says.

Hannibal smiles, kissing Will's temple. "I simply don't want you to be afraid," Hannibal says. "If this is something you're going to need, I'd rather be prepared."

"Something I need?"

"I've noticed things about this new side of you, Will," Hannibal murmurs. "I think you have, too."

Will swallows, picking up his fork and going back to eating. Hannibal releases his neck to let him do it.

"Do you deny it?"

Will shakes his head. "No," he replies hoarsely. "And I'm trying to just accept it. But it's difficult."

"Difficult in what regard?" Hannibal stands next to him, arms folded across his chest, watching Will eat as he leans against the edge of the kitchen island. Will doesn't answer immediately, and Hannibal sighs. "Will, now more than ever, full and honest communication is essential if we are to navigate this change safely. Meaning you cannot hold back what you're thinking and feeling. If -."

"I know, I _know_ ," Will growls, setting his fork down again. The bowl is almost empty, and he would be appalled that he ate almost a pound of ground beef all by himself, if it weren't for the fact that he still feels hungry. Perhaps there is more to the 'eating human' theory than he wanted to give credit.

He sighs, leaning on the counter, and runs his hands through his hair. "I'm sorry," he says, and looks up at Hannibal, meeting his concerned eyes. "I don't know why I still feel the need to hold my cards close to my chest with you."

"You're naturally guarded," Hannibal replies, his tone accepting, but the words sting. "Do you think there is anything you could need, or want, that I would not do whatever I could to accommodate?"

Will shakes his head.

Hannibal smiles, sad and slight. "Do you resent my gain so much?"

"It's just a lot," Will says. "If I do half the things I want to do…"

He falls silent, and Hannibal doesn't press. Will can see that he wants to. Finally, Hannibal sighs, and averts his gaze to the cabinets at Will's back.

Will finishes the meat and pushes the bowl away, sighing again. "I don't want to fight," he says, wincing at the subtle ache in his chest that's forming in the face of Hannibal's distress. He rubs at his chest, baring his teeth. "I'm sorry."

Hannibal nods, relenting with another sigh. He turns and puts a hand in Will's hair and draws him up for a chaste kiss. "I know you'll tell me when you're ready," he murmurs, cupping Will's face with his other hand. Will presses his lips together, catching Hannibal's wrist, and bringing his palm to Will's mouth to kiss.

"Don't leave me," Will says. "I hate it when you leave me."

"Then I'll stay," Hannibal replies.

"I like it," Will continues. He has to say all of this now, before his pride and his fear overcome him again. "I like it when you tell me what to do. When you tell me to be good." Hannibal blinks at him, his brow furrowing. "I want you to order a mask, and a collar, and I want to just run and eat and fuck and not have to worry about anything."

He stops, the words catching in his throat, and ducks his gaze, closing his eyes tightly shut. After a moment, Hannibal lets out a shaky breath of his own, his fingers curling more tightly in Will's hair, and forces him to raise his head again.

"These are the desires of a new creature living in your head," he says quietly. Will bites his lower lip and whines. "But the desires themselves are not new."

"No," Will replies, because he can't deny it. He has always delighted in Hannibal's desire to care for him, to see him well-fed and groomed and each of them smoothing out each other's rough edges. The first time Hannibal made a meal for him after Will had discovered where his food came from, Will had been bowled over by Hannibal's affection. It's apparent in his every action, the way he hunts and cares for Will, provides for each of his needs, both spoken and not, with grace and acceptance. They say love is patient, and kind; the phrase may have been created purely for the man standing before him.

"Why does it distress you so much, then, to admit them now?"

"I don't know," Will replies honestly. "I suppose I'm seeking an excuse."

"Because you believe that you shouldn't want these things?"

"What would they make me, except an animal?"

Hannibal smiles. "We are all creatures, darling," he replies, cupping Will's jaw tenderly, thumb brushing over the shadow of hair on his cheek. "We move and exist within our own natures. Some of us are born with the nature of more evolved species."

"I don't feel more evolved," Will breathes.

"And I cannot convince you otherwise," Hannibal replies gently. Will nods, sighing. "Do you remember what I told you, so long ago? About love, and potential?"

"That through love, our beloved's potential is identified and realized," Will says, nodding again. He remembers it well. The words strike him just as hard in memory as they had when he'd first heard Hannibal say them. They bring a smile to his face. "So that's what this is? Potential?"

"I encourage you to see it as such," Hannibal says, petting through Will's hair. He kisses Will's forehead and Will sighs, closing his eyes and nuzzling closer, until his nose rests at Hannibal's bared neck. "Through it, I would see your potential realized. I wish you could see this as the blessing I do."

"It's only a blessing because it brings me closer to you," Will says, laughing the words.

Hannibal laughs, and when he pulls back, that same joy is bright on his face. "Is that so bad?"

"No," Will replies. And it isn't, he realizes – what could be bad about something that brings such happiness to his lover's eyes? "I suppose not."

Hannibal smiles. "Are you still hungry?"

"Yes," Will says, nodding, "but I don't want to eat any more."

"Alright," Hannibal replies, and pulls Will to his feet. He brings Will close for another kiss, this one much more passionate, deeper, and Will whimpers, parting his jaws to allow Hannibal to taste the meat on his tongue.

Will clutches at his clothes, drawing him close, and feels a rumble in his chest like a growl. Hannibal pulls back, surprised at the sound, and Will growls again, licking his lips, his mouth warm and red after Hannibal's kiss.

"Take me upstairs," he demands. Hannibal nods, takes his hands, and obeys.

 

 

The clock reads that it's closer to six than five now; a fact Will barely acknowledges as the door closes and the room is thrust into darkness that is only barely touched by the oncoming sunrise. He turns and throws himself against Hannibal's chest, purring when he hears Hannibal's shoulders connect with the door. He kisses Hannibal deeply, his hands curled in Hannibal's shirt, arching against his mate desperately.

Hannibal gasps, grabbing Will's hair tightly, and pulls him back to rest their foreheads together. Will bares his teeth, because he wants to, determined not to fight back any urge that brings him closer to Hannibal's bed.

"I love how eager you are," Hannibal breathes.

Will smiles, fights against the tug on his hair to catch Hannibal's mouth again. Hannibal lets out a low, rough noise, and shoves Will back, forcing their bodies to separate. Will wants to snarl at him, but resists when he sees the look in Hannibal's eyes.

"Get on the bed, darling," Hannibal says, and Will nods, pulling his shirt over his head and throwing it to one side before he crawls onto the bed and turns, waiting for Hannibal to come to him.

Hannibal does, prowling into place between Will's knees. Will leans forward, cupping Hannibal's face, his nails curling along his neck and finding purchase on Hannibal's shoulders when Hannibal kisses him, pressing him onto his back on the bed.

Will moans, arching up when Hannibal's hands land on his thighs, spreading out and dragging down in a rough touch. He shivers, biting his lower lip when Hannibal cups his thighs, forcing him to curl under Hannibal's weight, rutting together through their clothes.

"Please," he gasps, whining when Hannibal kisses down his scruffy jaw, finds the muscle in the side of his neck and bites down on it in a way that makes Will tremble, his gut clenching tightly with anticipation. He puts his nails to Hannibal's back, clawing at him through his shirt and trusting the fabric to keep Hannibal's skin intact when all he wants to do is shred through it and feel his mate's skin under his hands.

"You're so warm," Hannibal murmurs, kissing up his neck to catch his mouth again. Will trembles beneath him, spreading his legs as wide as he can when one of Hannibal's hands slides down his thigh and cups his erection through his sweatpants. Will groans, the noise stuck in his throat, swallowed by Hannibal's kiss, and Hannibal curls his fingers and squeezes Will through his clothes. Then, he pulls back, a flush starting on his face, his eyes wide and raking down Will's exposed chest hungrily. "Turn over, darling."

Fuck, _yes_. Will obeys eagerly, going to his hands and knees and then dropping to his elbows when Hannibal's hands settle on his back. He arches into the touch, head bowed and shoulders tensed when Hannibal turns his attention to Will's clothes, tugging them down his hips and thighs until the fabric pulls tight around his knees.

He moves to get out of them, but is stopped when Hannibal growls and tightens his hands on Will's flanks. "No," he commands, and Will immediately goes still. "Stay. Just like that."

Will does so, shaking finely when he hears Hannibal move to the bedside table to get out the bottle of lubricant. He flinches at the sound of the cap opening, and bites his lower lip when Hannibal returns to him, one warm hand pressed flat to the base of his spine, the other sliding with wet fingers against his hole.

Hannibal bends over him, digs his nails into Will's flank to hold him still, and forces one finger inside. It's immediately not enough – Will feels empty on the inside, desperate to get Hannibal inside of him. He needs his mate, needs to be mounted and fucked so badly, the desire is sitting heavy behind his eyes and it blinds him. He whines, plaintive and soft, and lowers his shoulders, pushing back in supplication.

"Please," he whispers, fingers curling in the knots of sheets beneath his hands.

Hannibal kisses his spine again, licks the flush of heat spreading down his back, and curls his finger down. It aches, bone-deep and hot, but it's still not enough. Will needs him deeper, needs _more_. It's a ravenous hunger, like starvation or thirst. He doesn't know how he existed up until this moment, with Hannibal's hands and heat on him.

Hannibal pushes in with another finger and Will moans, loudly, goading him on. His thighs shake, and his breath comes unsteadily, sweat gathering behind his knees and beneath his hair. Hannibal's touch is as precise and patient as it always is, but Will doesn't want patience. He wants it raw, rough, needs to feel dominance and control in Hannibal's touch. Will doesn't have to worry about anything as long as Hannibal is around.

Hannibal rears over him, puts one hand in Will's hair and knots tight, yanking him to his hands. Will growls, gasping, and turns his head when Hannibal kisses his shoulder. "Beg me again," he says, voice rough.

"Please," Will says, hoarse like he's been screaming the word for a thousand years. Hannibal pulls his fingers out, drags his nails down Will's thigh, then his touch retreats to push his own clothes out of the way. He kneels on the saddle of Will's sweatpants, hobbling him and keeping him stuck. "Hannibal -."

"I'm here," Hannibal whispers. His touch withdraws, finding the familiar place on Will's waist, gripping tight. His cockhead drags through the slick on Will's hole, teasing, taunting. Will whimpers and bows his head, exposing the back of his neck.

Hannibal growls and Will shivers when he feels his teeth there. Hannibal bites down, just hard enough to leave a mark, not hard enough to break skin, and pushes into Will's body in the same moment. Will gasps, flinching, his knuckles white in the sheets, and lets him in.

" _God_ , please," Will growls, dropping to his elbows when Hannibal lets his neck go, slides his hands up Will's back and curls his fingers around Will's shoulders. He digs his nails in, forcing Will back until their thighs touch, and Will moans, reaching back to wrap his hand around the back of one of Hannibal's thighs. " _Alpha_."

Hannibal shivers, Will feels his cock twitch, and then he starts to move. It's a brutal, rough pace, forcing Will to curl and accept him with every thrust. It's far from gentle, but it makes Will's chest burn with adoration. Hannibal knows what he needs, and he'll give his last breath to see it done.

Will plants his hands on the bed and shoves back and Hannibal presses his clothed chest to Will's back, crushing him under his mate's weight and muscle. Hannibal is larger than Will, his brain registers this like the scent of sweat and the sound of Hannibal's rough breaths in his ear. It strikes something in him, some basic, primal urge he hadn't paid much attention to until it began to howl in him. This is a strong mate, an Alpha in his prime, and Will wants to submit. He wants Hannibal's teeth in his neck, wants the marks of his nails littered across his chest and back as proof of Hannibal's claim on him.

Let the fucking wolves smell Hannibal's sweat on his skin and his seed in Will's body when and if they ever come for him.

Hannibal wraps his fingers between Will's, tightens them so both their knuckles turn white. "Is this what you need?" Hannibal growls, punctuating the words with another deep thrust that Will feels in his wrecked throat.

He nods, because it's true. To argue otherwise would be like insisting the sun rises in the west.

Hannibal makes another rough sound, biting down on Will's shoulder. Will moans weakly, his body split open and greedy for Hannibal's cock. Every time Hannibal withdraws feels like an insult, each return like another scrap of food sating his hunger. He's desperate, slick with sweat, _ready_.

"Bite me again," Will begs, and Hannibal obeys with another soft growl, baring his teeth as he drags his mouth to another patch of red, unmarked flesh, and sinks his teeth into it hard enough to leave a bruise. "Again." Will's other shoulder receives the same treatment, the pain sharp and delicate like the sting of a rose's thorn. " _Again_."

Hannibal frees one of his hands and slides it through Will's sweaty hair, forcing his head down. Will moans, shoulders tensed, ready for it. His neck is presented willingly, and Hannibal takes his gift like a god takes the offering of his worshippers. He bites down on Will's nape and Will goes tense, lightning surging down his spine from the point of Hannibal's teeth.

He collapses with a whimper, turns his head and bites down on his own bicep to stifle his cry as he feels the desire peak, crumble like a rockslide, and send him crashing down the cliffs. His orgasm hits him with the same warmth he feels when Hannibal tells him to be good. It's the richest reward, churning his gut and settling like a weighted blanket behind his eyes.

Hannibal doesn't stop. Will doesn't ask him to. His pace doesn't falter, forcing Will's spasming and sore muscles to accept him again and again. "Please," Will gasps, when his tongue frees itself of weight and he can speak again.

Hannibal kisses his sore neck, slowing abruptly, and Will sighs when he feels Hannibal's jaw clench, tight against his shoulder, and his fingers flex between Will's as he finishes inside him. The sound Hannibal makes in orgasm is incredibly satisfying, and settles his trembling muscles and his racing heart.

Hannibal pulls out and Will turns, catches him and doesn't allow him to flee. He rolls Hannibal onto his back and climbs into his lap, kissing him breathlessly until there is simply no more air between them. Hannibal's skin smells amazing, slick with sweat, and Will rumbles in pleasure, licking his mate's neck to taste the salt on his skin, nuzzles Hannibal's racing pulse, and purrs when Hannibal pets gently through his hair as they both calm down.

Will pulls back, resting their foreheads together, and Hannibal cups his jaw with a gentle touch. His chest is heaving to recover his breath, his eyes bright with affection and satisfaction.

Will smiles, biting his lower lip. "I know I said I could go alone today, to interview the vet clinic," he says, and Hannibal blinks, his gaze sharpening. "But I don't want to."

Hannibal smiles. "I only have one session today, early morning," he replies. "We can go after."

"Thank you," Will breathes. He's not sure he will ever be able to communicate just how deeply he appreciates Hannibal's desire to be close to him. Hannibal's smile widens, and he pulls Will into another kiss. "When's your appointment?"

"Ten," Hannibal replies.

Will huffs, eyeing the clock. "We have a few hours, then," he murmurs, playful and teasing.

Hannibal laughs. "You're insatiable," he replies, but he doesn't sound upset by the idea in the slightest.

"Get your head out of the gutter," Will says, rolling his eyes. "I meant you could feed me. Or we could nap. There are _options_."

"If you're hungry, I will feed you."

"Starving," Will says, leaning in for another kiss. "But I'd rather stay in the gutter for a little while longer."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm re-assigning some of the characters and their ages here so that they fit this AU. Nothing too dramatic, but in this AU a lot of the murderers and stuff Will tracked down will make alternate appearances here. I hope it isn't too jarring :)

Hannibal comes home after his appointment to pick Will up, and they have lunch and then get in Hannibal's car to drive to the park that links all their kidnapping victims. Although Will is starting to wonder if they're kidnapped at all. That morning, in the quiet of his own, antsy thoughts, he had begun to draw up a profile of not only the Alpha wolf, but all those he has been turning, and how they differ from himself.

He knows that a lot of the missing persons had animals. So, the Alpha is finding them through this park or the vet clinic, most likely. Which means he would need to be good with animals, and easily earn their trust. He would have to come across as non-threatening. People will pack bond with anything, and the love someone has for their pet can rival that of their own blood or closest friends – to place them into the care of someone else means that person cannot come across as a predator.

The Alpha has to be someone who is charming and charismatic. He would have to be strong – not only to subdue his new packmate in the beginning, but to maintain control over the ten-plus people that have already gone missing. He would have to find people who, through their human nature or something that manifests in their wolves, would submit to him. If he couldn't, Will has no doubt that they would be looking at murder victims as well as missing persons.

But there haven't been any bodies – at least, none that were reported missing beforehand. The Alpha isn't choosing them based on economic background, skin tone, social standing, or anything like that. Which means he has to have met them first, spoken to them, gotten a feel for their personalities.

Will's change was an accident. Will believes that wholeheartedly. He hadn't been a target, but a victim of circumstance, and trying to get too close to an animal that should have set off his prey instinct, that he should have avoided. Of course, after being with Hannibal, one gets a certain skewed sense of what makes a predator and what makes prey.

Namely, everything is prey, except for Hannibal himself. And, through some strange combination of mental disorders and chemical compounds, Hannibal doesn't look at him like prey either.

The windows are rolled down in the car, allowing Will to feel the wind in his face and take in the sounds and smells of Baltimore as they drive through the city and then outward, until city becomes suburbia and the sounds of car horns and trains become children at play, dogs barking, the songs of birds. Will likes this kind of atmosphere, certainly more than the city, but much more than he did before. He's wild with energy; he feels like he could get out of the car and sprint next to it and still keep pace.

"You saw Margot today, didn't you?" Will asks after another few turns in companionable silence.

Hannibal nods, and Will turns his head to catch the action. He smiles. "How is she?"

"She's doing wonderfully," Hannibal replies. "She wanted me to give you her love, and let you know we still owed her and Alana dinner."

Will smiles. "Dinner would be great," he says, sighing, and turns to look out the window again. At least he doesn't feel the need to stick his head out. Yet. He does put his arm out the window, lets the air currents slip through his spread fingers, and sighs. It's not yet spring break, so there aren't any school-aged children out and about, but he can see mothers with younger children, men out to lunch with their neighbors, and the hustle and bustle of midday suburban life.

Hannibal takes his free hand, squeezing gently. Will has dirt under his nails from the half hour he spent idly in the backyard, pulling up strands of grass around the kennel foundation that has yet to be filled with cement and absentmindedly clumping up edges of dirt before smoothing it out again.

They pull up to the parking lot next to the park and get out of the car. Will takes a deep breath, smiling at the scents of rain-sweet grass, the sticky vanilla smell of soft serve ice cream, the aftertaste of suntan lotion and bug spray. It assaults his nose, but it's manageable, and he falls into step at Hannibal's side as they walk around the edge of the park.

Will isn't sure what he's looking for. He doesn't go to the playground – the Alpha wouldn't take children, and he wouldn't take someone with an immediate family that would miss them. He tells Hannibal as much, and Hannibal nods. "Single pet owners would be most likely," he says. "People walking their dogs, or playing with them."

Will nods, shifting his weight. There's a small stretch of open grass and he feels the incredible urge to go rolling around in it. He sighs, pressing his lips together, and hopes that these kinds of feelings go away, or at least soften as time goes on.

"There," Hannibal says, nodding to an open park bench under the shade of a large oak tree. Will ducks his head and follows, his eyes scanning the various joggers they pass. A family overtakes them, the mother pushing a stroller with a sleeping baby inside, the father has an arm around her shoulders and is making a joke about cheese. Will smiles, and they take their seats on the bench.

Hannibal has his bag, and he sets it down, pulling out a slim journal with a pen tucked into it to mark his place. Will raises an eyebrow. "You think we'll be here long?" he asks.

Hannibal settles back and gives Will an indulgent smile. "I don't want to distract you."

Will huffs, sitting back against the bench. He pulls his heels up to the edge and wraps his hands around his stomach, idly tapping out a beat as he sets his eyes on the civilians milling around the park. This looks like a good place for people to bring their dogs, with the open area and shaded paths. There's a water fountain on the other side of the green, and trees that are interspersed with running trails beyond it. Right now, there are a few people: a man playing catch with his Labrador; a woman sitting in the sun on a blanket, reading her Kindle, her terrier mix curled up and dozing next to her. There's a family with young children playing with their puppy, wrestling childishly and getting grass stains on every patch of clothing and skin under the watchful eyes of their mother.

Of those groups, the man is the most likely to be either a target or a perpetrator. Will keeps him in his sights, but makes sure to keep his eyes and ears open for any new players. Hannibal opens his notebook and starts to write. Will knows it's one of the journals he uses for math, where he'll write down formulas and try to solve them as personal brainteasers. He's so weird. Will loves him.

The thought makes him pause. Of course, to say Will _doesn't_ love him would be like saying the sky is green or the sun rises in the west. It's _wrong_ , of course. But Will has never said it. He's never felt the need before – but then again, there are a lot of cruelties he's made Hannibal bear that he hadn't been aware of.

Will sighs, and closes his eyes. He listens to the dogs barking, the shrieks of laughter, the little buzz of gnats and flies as they inspect and discard Hannibal and himself as they sit on the bench. There's a squirrel in the tree above them and Will listens as it makes its way down the bark and around their legs, hoping for stray food.

"Hayley, no! Come back!"

Will opens his eyes in time to see an Australian Shepherd barrel across the green, heading straight towards them. Or, rather, the squirrel. The animal barks, tongue lolling and ears flat as it chases the squirrel up the tree, hindquarters shaking from side to side as the squirrel runs up to the safety of the branches. Will looks around and sees a woman running towards them, holding a leash in her hand, a plastic bag in the other for the dog's waste. She's wearing exercise clothes, her face flushed with exertion and the kind of panic on her face that's very specific to animal owners when they're chasing a pet that is much faster than them.

Will looks back at the dog, and clicks his tongue. "Hey," he murmurs, and the dog looks at him, ears perked up. He stands, and steps away from the bench, and kneels down, holding out his hand. "Hey there, Hayley. C'mere."

The dog trots up to him, squirrel forgotten, and noses at his hand. Will smiles, petting over her soft, mottled fur, and wraps his hand in her collar so she doesn't bolt again. He looks up when the woman catches up to them, breathless and smiling in relief.

"Thank you," she says, and kneels down to clip the leash back onto her dog. Hayley barks at Will, butt wagging since her breed don't often have tails anymore, and licks his hands heartily. "She's a Goddamn demon. I would'a never caught her."

"It's no trouble," Will replies, standing. "I have eight of my own. They're a handful."

" _Eight_?" she repeats, her eyes wide. "God, that's insane. You run a rescue center or something?"

Will shakes his head, smiling. "I adopt strays," he says. Hannibal isn't watching them; Will can't feel his eyes on his back, but he's keenly aware that Hannibal is very much paying attention. It's a certain social stereotype that animal lovers will attract each other, and he's not unaware that some people bring their animals out in public in the hopes of attracting a potential mate.

He would indulge Hannibal's possessive side, on any other day. Or in any other mindset. The thought of doing anything to upset him makes Will's stomach turn, even if it's done to tease.

The woman smiles, hesitates, and clears her throat. "I'm Molly," she says, and holds out her hand for him to shake. Will takes it.

"Will," he replies.

"Well, Will, thank you again," Molly says. She tightens the leash and clicks her tongue at Hayley. "C'mon, you troublemaker."

Will lets her go, turning to take a seat, when he hears a phone ring. It's Molly's, and she pulls it from the band around her wrist, answering it. "Hello?"

Will goes still. Then the wind changes, and he takes a deep breath.

"Where are you?" That sensation hits him in the gut again. Familiar, her voice is _familiar_. Yeah, I'm heading back now. Just finished jogging." Molly's voice is fading away, and Will turns to watch her leave, Hayley trotting obediently at her side. She doesn't seem to sense his eyes on her, and Will swallows, lifting his chin as he takes in another breath through his nose.

"Hannibal," he whispers, and hears Hannibal stand, feels his shadow at Will's shoulder. "It's her," he says, and nods to Molly's back. "The woman I heard."

"During the night, that you thought was in your head?" Hannibal murmurs. Will nods, and takes in another deep breath. She doesn't smell…well, truthfully he's not sure what he should be smelling. People who own dogs smell like dogs. There's nothing about her scent that pings in Will's head as being _werewolf_.

He frowns, and looks to see Hannibal watching Molly leave, his lips pressed together, eyes dark. "Do you think she's been changed as well?"

"She's not a missing person," Will replies after a moment. "I didn't recognize her from the case file."

"Then not a werewolf," Hannibal murmurs. "Or perhaps one that has been rehabilitated."

Will winces. "Don't say it like that," he says. Hannibal looks at him, and he nods, an apology on his face. Will sighs, running his hands through his hair. "I can't go interrogate her now. But maybe Jack can call her in for questioning or something."

"If she does know anything about the missing persons, she may know who is taking them, and where they're being kept," Hannibal says with a nod of confirmation. "Did you sense anything else about her?"

"You mean does she smell like a mythical creature? No," Will replies blandly, huffing a frustrated breath. His head hurts, and the sun suddenly seems overly-bright. He ducks his head and rubs his hand over his eyes.

"Are you experiencing a migraine?" Hannibal says, soft with concern.

"My head feels weird," Will replies. "Different than a migraine. I don't know how to describe it."

"Would you like to keep waiting here, or move on to the veterinarian?"

"Let's go to the clinic. See if any more spidey senses tingle," Will mutters, though truthfully the idea of being around that much potential noise and _people_ sets his teeth on edge. Hannibal nods, gathering his belongings and putting them back in his bag. They walk towards the clinic, since it isn't far, and the fresh air feels good on Will's face and neck.

"I should have gotten her last name," Will mutters after a moment. "She'd be easier to track down that way."

"Although I am hardly the poster child for boundaries, I don't think you should be stalking this woman quite yet."

The mild way Hannibal says that startles a laugh out of Will. He looks up at Hannibal, smiling wide, overwhelmed with affection. "Don't put yourself down like that," Will replies. "You've always respected my boundaries."

Hannibal raises an eyebrow, and smiles back. "Only once you became mine."

Will sucks in a shaky breath, almost stumbling at how hard that sentiment hits him. He runs a shaking hand through his hair, over the back of his neck, to hide the reaction, but Hannibal sees it. Of course he does. His smile turns smug, but thankfully he doesn't say anything else on the matter.

They spot the sign for the vet clinic and head towards it. Stapled to a telephone pole outside of it is a flyer, and Will approaches it. It's an advertisement for dog walking services, with a few of the tearaway numbers removed. Will pauses in front of it, tilting his head to one side.

"Will?" Hannibal murmurs.

Will presses his lips together, and tears off one of the phone numbers. "Dog walker is a good starting point, too," he says, and Hannibal nods, and they enter the clinic.

There are a few patrons inside. A bulldog with a cone around its head, a cat in a carrier hissing at anything that comes near it. There's a child holding a very overweight rabbit in her lap, and another man with a Rottweiler sitting at his feet.

"Good morning, gentlemen!" the clerk says. He's a tall, lanky teenager, with a blue streak in his hair and the edges of a tattoo visible underneath the edge of his t-shirt. He smiles at Will as Will approaches the desk.

"Hi," Will begins, keeping his voice low. "I'm Special Agent Will Graham, with the FBI. I believe someone in your office has spoken with us before regarding your customer list."

The boy frowns, biting his lower lip. His nametag reads 'Jesse'. "Um, I don't know anything about that, but my boss might. One second, I'll go get him." Will nods and the boy leaves, and then Will hears a low growl.

It's the Bulldog. It's huffing and snarling in his direction, ears pressed flat back, and body tensed up like it means to attack him. The dog's owner is frowning at it, tugging on its leash and making a 'tsk'ing sound. She looks up at Will and gives him an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. He's not normally like this," she says.

"It's alright," Will replies. "It happens." But not normally to him. Of course, some animals just don't like strangers, and he wouldn't fault them for that. Not every stray he has attempted to adopt has come willingly at first, or at all, but he can't help feeling that the Bulldog's reaction isn't really because of him, but because of what he is.

Then again, Molly's dog, and the Rottweiler in the corner, don't seem to mind his presence at all.

"Hello, can I help you?"

Will's attention is caught by another man as Jesse opens the door to the office and follows him out. He's older, closer to Will's age, clean-cut and wide-eyed, the picture of approachability and non-threatening. Will smiles at him. "Hi. I'm here with the FBI. I was hoping to ask you a few questions? Perhaps somewhere more private?"

"Of course, right this way," the man says. He's not wearing a nametag, and he opens the door to the back office and gestures for Will to come inside. Will does, sending a look back in Hannibal's direction. Hannibal is looking at the poster board and Will nods to himself – it'll save him the time of doing it later. He follows the man into the next room and then a third, where there's a desk covered in medical folders, a picture of the same man shaking hands with a baseball player, and his veterinary degree on the wall.

"How can I help you, Mister…?"

"Graham. Thank you," Will says, taking a seat. The man sits opposite. Will catches his name from the diploma – Randall Tier. "Mister Tier, as I said, I'm with the FBI. I believe you may have spoken to my superior about getting a list of your clients and their pets."

"Agent Crawford. Yes, I remember," Randall says. He sits forward, folding his hands together and resting his forearms on the edge of his desk. "I'm to believe that a lot of my clients' owners have gone missing?"

"That's correct," Will replies with a nod. "Do you have that list?"

"Oh, yes," Randall says. He sits back, takes a sheet of paper from the mess on his desk, and hands it to Will. There's a list of names, contact numbers, pet types, and reasons for the initial visit as well as the date of the last one. Will nods to himself, folding it up and sliding it into the pocket of his coat. "May I ask what has the FBI coming to me for this kind of thing?"

"We're just covering our bases," Will replies. "How many employees do you have here?"

"There's me, Jesse – the kid you met out front. Good kid, troubled home. Family friend. Then there's Eva, she's one of our surgeons, and I run an internship program of revolving college students. They help me out during the breaks."

Will tilts his head to one side. "Not a lot of people for such a busy place," he notes.

Randall smiles. "I like to keep my group small," he replies. "I have a few part-timers, too. I can give you a list if you'd like."

"I would appreciate that," Will says, glad that he's not going to have to jump through the hoops of getting a warrant. Randall's willingness to help him is promising, in that he's probably not the one taking these people, but it also means Will might be looking at a dead-end, which is less than optimal. "How long have Jesse and Eva been working for you?"

"Eva's been with me for…gosh, going on six years now? Jesse just started last summer."

"Was he an intern?"

"Yes," Randall says, smiling. "But then I suppose he fell in love with the work here. He asked to stay on and I let him, provided he keeps his nose clean and stays out of trouble."

So, Jesse has been working at this place for the right amount of time – ten months could easily rack up the missing persons, and they'd started disappearing last summer. "When you say, 'keeps his nose clean', what kind of thing do you mean?"

Randall pauses, his smile weakening at the corners. "Well, like I said, he came from a rough home," he says, overly-brightly. "I've caught him a few times a little too interested in the medical cabinet, if you catch my drift. But he's been good since I made the deal with him. I haven't had any trouble. He's a good kid, Mister Graham. He's been rehabilitated."

Will winces again. He really doesn't like that word. "Alright, Mister Tier. Thank you for indulging me. I'll get out of your hair," he says, standing. Randall stands as well, apparently eager to usher Will out despite his relative friendliness. "Oh, before I go."

Will pauses, and looks back at the man.

"There's a dog walking flyer outside your clinic," he says. Randall nods. "Do you know the guy?"

"Jesse does it," Randall replies. "Good way to get some extra cash. I don't mind as long as he keeps to his hours."

Will smiles. He'd thought as much. "Alright." He hands Randall his card. "Please email me the employee list when you can. Thank you again," he says, and makes his way out. He catches Hannibal's eye and heads to the door. As he goes, the Bulldog snarls at him again, barking in a rough bass common with the breed.

"Alright, alright, you big brute!" Jesse says good-naturedly, coming out from behind the counter. Will takes a deep breath, trying to catch his scent, but he can't get anything aside from Axe body spray – sharp, musty – and the vague scent of dog from him. Jesse goes to the Bulldog and it instantly quiets, and Will swallows and leaves the clinic with Hannibal in tow.

He can feel eyes on him, and doesn't stop until they're around the corner from the clinic. "Anything good on the poster board?" he asks.

"Some dog training classes, various informationals about diseases and what to look out for if a dog gets sick, nothing of note," Hannibal replies. Will nods, pressing his lips together. "You?"

"…Maybe," Will says quietly, coming to a stop in the shade of a café awning. He turns and meets Hannibal's gaze. "The owner told me the kid – Jesse – has been working for him for the same amount of time the people have been going missing. And he's the dog walker too. Apparently, he had a bad past, but he's turned it around at this place."

Hannibal cocks his head to one side. "There's more," he says.

Will nods, biting his lower lip. "Just a feeling," he replies, rubbing his hand over his eyes again. "The owner seemed really defensive when I asked about his staff size, and the kid."

"Do you think he knows something?"

"Oh, I'm sure of it," Will says. "But it could just be he wants to protect his protégé from the Feds if he thinks Jesse's gone back to stealing meds. _Or_ , he could know something about this. I don't know yet. But I got a list of his clients and he's going to be sending me a personnel list. It's a start, I guess."

He hesitates, swallowing harshly, and looks away. "What is it, Will?"

"If this kid is the one turning people, that means he turned me," Will says quietly. Hannibal presses his lips together and nods. "He didn't recognize me, though. Not even a flicker. Means, if he is our guy, he might not remember that night at all. I find that implication…uncomfortable."

A shadow of understanding passes over Hannibal's face. Will knows he gets what Will is trying to say – if during the full moon, he becomes an animal, he could attack anyone, he could _hurt_ someone, and he wouldn't even remember doing it. He could wake up with blood on his hands and no idea how it got there or who it came from.

Hannibal sighs, and puts a hand on Will's shoulder. "We'll figure this out," he says, lowering his head so Will has to meet his eyes. Will does so, taking in a deep breath and sighing when his mouth and lungs fill with Hannibal's cologne and the outside air. It's a soothing combination of scents, and he feels his headache start to lessen somewhat.

Then, the door to the café opens, and the smell of fresh bread and coffee washes over them and Will swallows, his stomach rumbling. Hannibal laughs, cupping his neck. "Hungry, darling?" he asks.

Will nods, letting out a pitiful whine for good measure – like he has ever had to beg for Hannibal to feed him – and Hannibal smiles, takes his hand, and leads the way into the café.


	9. Chapter 9

Will's cocks his head to one side as he hears Hannibal coming down the stairs. He's standing in the kitchen, his arms folded across his chest, fingers kneading anxiously at the folds of soft fabric bunched around his elbows. He has a t-shirt on and lounge pants underneath, his feet bare, his hair slightly greasy in the way it gets when he goes just a little too long without showering.

He takes a deep breath, catching a sharp stab of Hannibal's scent, and feels Hannibal's eyes on the back of his neck. "Morning," he says without turning his gaze away from the yard. There are people in the backyard. Hannibal had shown Will the lead contractor's name and face, so he would recognize him if Hannibal was out of the house or indisposed to greet him, and Will would know who he was and what he was here to do.

"Good morning," Hannibal replies, his voice quiet and rough like it gets first thing. "Have you eaten yet?"

Will shakes his head. He shifts his weight and bites his lower lip, watching as the contractor's crew call to each other, wheeling over a small cement mixer and pouring in the base.

He hears Hannibal let out a small, worried noise. "Are you alright?"

Will bites his lower lip again, catching the side of it with one of his sharper teeth. He winces, wiping his mouth when he lets it go. He keeps forgetting how sharp his teeth are now. "I want to go outside," he says.

He turns his head to see Hannibal giving him a fond, indulgent smile. "What's stopping you?" he asks.

Will sighs, and turns to look out of the patio doors again. "I'm afraid that I'll do something weird," he replies. "Like chase a squirrel or pee on the fence."

Hannibal shakes his head, and Will turns again and goes to sit on the bar stool at the kitchen island. He runs his hands through his hair, scratching over his scalp, and then over his face as he heaves another breath.

"Will," Hannibal says after a moment, making Will lift his eyes. "No matter what happens, I don't ever want you to feel like you can't do or say whatever it is you want. It would be unforgiveable if this change in you made you afraid of your own desires."

"Unforgiveable," Will repeats. "Would you seek vengeance?"

"If the wolf who turned you made you feel like you couldn't be yourself, then yes," Hannibal replies without hesitation. Will blinks at him, and then lowers his eyes. "Talk to me. Please."

"I just…feel like it should mean something," Will confesses, finally giving voice to the words that have been buzzing around in his head the last few days, since visiting the vet clinic and meeting Molly, Randall, and Jesse. "I feel like there's something I'm missing."

"Your words betray two mindsets," Hannibal says. He moves to fill the kettle he uses when there isn't time to use his overly-fancy coffee machine, and places it on one of the heaters on top of his stove to warm up. "The first relies on something like a higher power; a meeting not of chance, but of fate. You want to believe that there's a reason you, out of anyone else, were attacked and turned. But, as a man of science, who sees patterns and justification in all things, you cannot allow yourself to think of it as an accident."

Will frowns. "I don't think I was targeted," he says.

"That's not what I meant," Hannibal replies with a smile.

"Then what's your point?"

"My _point_ ," Hannibal repeats with a meaningful look, "is that you're trying to fit two conflicting points of view into one person."

Will meets his eyes for a moment, before he understands, and his face relaxes. "It wasn't the Alpha who scratched me," he says.

Hannibal's eyes brighten with approval. "Why do you say that?" he asks. It's the psychiatrist instinct in him – even if he knows the answer, Will understands that it's much more satisfying for both of them for Will to come to the right conclusions on his own. Hannibal is simply there as a soundboard, and a helping hand.

"Because I was different," Will says. "The Alpha has been careful and controlled until now. He wouldn't just change his M.O. Someone else had to be loose that day, and I was just…a crime of passion. An accident. If I had been targeted by the Alpha, I wouldn't be sitting here now."

"He chooses low-risk victims," Hannibal murmurs. The kettle starts to whine, and he wraps his hand in a towel, removing it from the heat, and takes out a mug and a container of black tea, infused with aniseed. It smells like licorice and Will's nose wrinkles.

Hannibal notices, and looks down at his selection. "No?" he asks.

Will shrugs one shoulder.

Hannibal smiles, and puts the container back, pulling out a box of Earl Grey. It smells much more pleasant and Will sniffs, rubbing under his nose, but makes sure to give a nod of approval when Hannibal's eyes meet his again.

Hannibal huffs, places a tea bag in the bottom of the mug, and fills the cup before he sets the kettle down.

"I'm not a low-risk victim," Will says. "The Alpha would know that if he had wanted to take me."

"So, you're the Alpha," Hannibal begins. "You have a sizeable pack by this point, assuming everyone that's been taken has survived and been turned. You learn that one of your pack members has accidentally turned a civilian without your knowledge or permission. What do you do?"

"I'd try and find him," Will replies, frowning in thought. "I can't just let a wild wolf loose in the world. There are _rules_."

He stops, swallowing at his sudden vehemence. Hannibal's expression doesn't change, but there's a pleased, proud light in his eye. Will rubs his hand over his neck and winces when his nails catch the scruff of his beard.

"Do you think that's why he sent Molly?" Will whispers. "If the wolf who attacked me knew where he was, the Alpha might have sent her, to call for me. To see if I'd answer."

"A female is more likely to get a reaction," Hannibal says mildly. "They present a less obvious threat."

Will smirks. "Your jealousy comforts me."

Hannibal blinks, presses his lips together, and takes a sip of his tea. Will knows from his sense of smell that the flavor is still too weak, the water too hot, for it to taste very good yet. He's doing it to hide the downward curl of his mouth.

"My possessiveness has caused you discomfort, in the past," Hannibal finally says.

"That was before," Will replies. "Now, I find solace in it. It means you still want me."

"Was that ever in question?"

Will smiles, ducking his head. His fingers curl together on the edge of the countertop, lacing then unlacing as he rests his elbows on the island. "No," he murmurs. "I'm just scared. The more I change, the more this might change. I don't want to lose that."

"The only changes I have seen have been wholly positive, through my point of view," Hannibal replies, setting his mug of tea down. Relinquishing his shield. Will raises his eyes, finds Hannibal's expression open and honest. "It has brought you closer to me, which is all I've ever wanted."

Will smiles, a purr rumbling in his chest at the declaration.

Then, he sighs, turning his thoughts back to the issue at hand. "I gave Jack my analysis of Randall, and Jesse. I didn't tell him about Molly yet."

Hannibal cocks his head to one side. "Why?"

"Well, I can't exactly pin anything on her at this point," Will replies, somewhat darkly. "Jack wouldn't take kindly to knowing I was hearing voices in the middle of the night again." He sighs. "I think I need to return home. She knows where I live, which means the Alpha and the wolf that turned me knows where I live as well. They might come for me again."

Hannibal frowns, but doesn't voice the protest Will knows he holds in his thoughts. Now that Will is here, he must be terrified of the idea of Will leaving him again, of changing his mind and putting a halt on them moving in together.

"And if they do?" he finally asks.

"What could they do to me that hasn't already been done?" Will asks, shrugging.

"They could do a great deal to you, Will," Hannibal replies. "The Alpha might see you as a threat, and would rather do away with that threat."

"I have to be willing to take that chance," Will says. "I don't know how else I will find them."

Hannibal sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. "Will," he begins, but doesn't say anything else. He shakes his head.

"I can't afford to wait until the next full moon," Will says quietly, meeting Hannibal's eyes. "I just can't."

Hannibal sighs again, and steps around the kitchen island, cupping Will's face with one gentle hand and turning him on his seat. "I know, darling," he replies gently. "And I know any attempts at dissuading you will not work. I would ask, though, that you wait." Will frowns, and opens his mouth to protest, but Hannibal shushes him and continues; "If something were to happen to you, I would be much happier knowing we had a viable suspect. Let Jack look into Randall's financial records, and Jesse's priors. If Randall has land somewhere, then I will know where to start looking for you."

"What if that takes too long?" Will demands.

"The last full moon was less than two weeks ago," Hannibal says. "We still have two more. There's enough time."

"What would you have me do?" Will asks. "Just sit and wait? Until I become more of a danger to you than I might already be?"

"I don't think you would ever harm me," Hannibal replies, just as gently. Will searches his eyes, strangely comforted to see no shred of doubt in them. Of course, Hannibal would have no reason to be afraid. Will has always been gentle in comparison to him, and Will also knows that, if it ever did come down to it, Hannibal would do whatever it took to control and restrain Will should he become more animal than man.

Will bites his lower lip and sighs through his nose, turning his cheek into Hannibal's palm. He cups Hannibal's wrist and kisses the meat of his thumb, and Hannibal's fingers curl under his jaw, nails dragging lightly over his beard. It feels good and Will resists the urge to whine and ask for more pets.

"Have you seen my spatula?" Will asks. "I can't find it anywhere."

Hannibal huffs, pulling his hand away. "About that," he says, and Will raises his eyebrows as Hannibal retrieves his mug of tea and leads the way out of the kitchen, towards the study. The innards are the same as always, the half-drawn curtains letting in enough light to see by. Will spots a package, opened, on the couch. He frowns and goes to it when Hannibal nods to the package, and Hannibal sits in one of the plush chairs as Will takes a seat at the other end of the couch and pulls the box into his lap.

Will lets out a shocked breath when he opens it, seeing what's inside. "You've got to be kidding," he mutters, more than a little embarrassed at the bright things he sees inside. There's a large ball, bright yellow and plastic, a pink ring large enough for Will to fit both hands through and ribbed, to chew on. There's a rope toy like the one Will has for his own dogs, and even a Goddamn _bone_. He looks at Hannibal. "These are…for me?"

Hannibal nods, smiling. "I wasn't sure what you'd prefer," he says. Will fishes out the rope toy, his fingers curling tight around it. He brings it to his nose, sniffing at it curiously. He can't deny the spike of excitement and joy he feels, seeing the toys, but at the same time he feels the reaction, shame follows. "Given how often you've mentioned eating my shoes, I thought it best to get things that can endure your oral fixation."

Will blushes. "Please, don't say it like that," he mutters, rolling his eyes when Hannibal's smile merely widens. Embarrassed, but still curious, he takes the ring and cautiously brings it to his mouth, parting his jaws and sinking his teeth into the plastic. It has a little give, but holds, and he sets the rope toy down and wraps both hands around the ring, testing the strength of it as he pulls and gnaws on the ribbed edge. It feels good on his teeth, putting pressure there as they ache, and the ribbed edge drags along the roof of his mouth in a wholly pleasant sensation.

He takes the ring out of his mouth, blushing harder when he feels his mouth has started to water. He swallows and sets the box to one side, idly spinning the ring to another clean side and biting down on it again.

"Do you like them?" Hannibal asks, his tone one of polite curiosity.

Will nods, licking over the ribbed edge of the ring before he bites it again. "Feels good on my teeth," he says.

Hannibal smiles. "I'm glad."

Will's cheeks are burning when he takes the ring away. He wants to keep chewing on it, but he feels like there's only so much his pride can take before the embarrassment wins over. He sets it on the box, his fingers curling and then tucked between his thighs to stop himself fishing through the other toys.

"I'm hungry," he announces, both because it's true, and because he desperately needs to change the subject.

Hannibal nods, pushing himself to his feet. "I'll fix us some breakfast," he says, petting his hand through Will's hair once, gently. He kisses Will on the forehead and Will smiles, nuzzling Hannibal's hand when Hannibal cups his jaw. "Go get cleaned up and dressed, we'll eat, and then go visit Jack and see if he has any information for us."

Good. A plan. An objective. Will likes that.

Plus, it will mean going for another ride in the car. Will bites his lower lip and tries not to think about that too hard.

 

 

"Jesse's last name is Turner. He was a foster kid for a long time before he ended up in his forever home – the Turners. Local. He did a few stints for petty theft and was arrested once for possession, but otherwise he's clean. Eva was his mentor during his out-patient rehab. She probably got him a job at the vet clinic."

Will nods, jogging his leg and drumming his knuckles against the side of his chair. Hannibal had dropped him off at the BSU to see Jack, deeply apologetic over the fact that he has patient appointments that he cannot reschedule. Will understands, of course he does, but the other empty chair seems large and obvious without Hannibal there to take up space, and Will doesn't like being away from him at all.

"And Randall?" he asks.

"Clean record," Jack says, sitting back in his chair. He rubs a hand over his face and sighs. "Nothing that would implicate him aside from the overlap between his patients and the missing persons. Either he's involved, or the kidnapper is using his client list for his hunting grounds."

Will nods, sighing through his nose, and Jack meets his eyes. "What did you make of him?"

"He was defensive, but helpful," Will replies, rubbing his hand over the corner of his mouth. He wishes he had brought one of the chew toys with him, but that would be very hard to explain. His teeth feel itchy and his jaw aches. "I think he was more worried about me asking questions about Jesse than himself. No reason to suspect he's involved."

Jack nods. "But."

Will shrugs one shoulder. "Just a feeling," he replies. "I think Randall knows who's doing it, if he's not the one doing it himself."

"I looked into Randall's background," Jack says. "He came from money, it's probably how he can afford to run his clinic. The profits on the place are pretty low from what I could tell."

Will frowns. "Do veterinarians normally make a lot of money?"

"The average salary in a big place can be quite high, so I'm told," Jack says. "The profit margins on his clinic seem comparatively slim."

"He might just do it for the love of it," Will suggests.

"Maybe."

"Does his family own any land?" Will asks. "Somewhere he might be holding these people? Like a compound?"

Jack nods. "His family estate is farmland, mostly. Big place. Lots of space to build somewhere he could house people."

"We should send someone to have a look around," Will says.

"I've contacted the local P.D.," Jack replies. "They're going up there tomorrow to have a look. If there's anyone there, we'll find them."

Will frowns. He presses his lips together and flattens his hands on his thighs. Sending civilians into a compound likely infested with werewolves will be incredibly dangerous. "I'd like to join them," he says after a moment.

Jack raises his eyebrows. "You're not usually so eager to go on field trips," he notes.

Will swallows, licking his lips. The ache in his jaws is getting unbearable. He brings his nails to his teeth, biting down on them. He tugs at one until it breaks, and starts to chew on it. It gives some semblance of relief.

"Something you're not telling me, Will?"

"If Randall is suffering from the lycanthrope delusion, it's possible he's managed to brainwash those he's taken as well. If none of them have resurfaced, he's either restraining all of them, or they're there of their own free will." Will swallows his nail and resists the urge to bite off another. "I doubt local P.D. have much experience with brainwashing or cult mentality."

"And you do."

"If they think like Randall, I have the greatest chance of understanding them."

Jack hums, pressing his lips together, and leans back in his chair. His dark eyes are sharp on Will's face and Will ducks his head, fighting back the desire to bare his throat. It's a strange, new urge, and he doesn't like it in the slightest.

"I can let them know you're coming," Jack says.

Will smiles tightly. "Thanks."

"The lead up there is Detective Monroe," Jack adds. "Bristly guy. Not real keen on big government, if you catch my drift."

"Caught," Will replies.

"There's something else," Jack says. He takes a thin file from his desk and holds it up. "I checked other missing persons, people who were reported as missing around the time of the full moon. There are at least thirty other names from Virginia, West Virginia, and Pennsylvania.

Will blinks, his eyes widening. "You think they're all related?"

"It's tough to say," Jack replies.

"What about murders?" Will asks. "They'd look like animal attacks, if this delusion is as strong as I suspect. He can't possibly have kept control over all these people."

Jack blinks at him, frowning, and sets the file down. "I suppose that's true," he replies with a nod. "I'll pull any files I can find. I'll let you know."

"Thanks," Will says, and stands. Jack follows suit with another nod.

"Will," he calls, as Will goes to the door. Will stops and looks over his shoulder. "Be careful out there."

Will smiles, swallowing harshly. "Don't worry, Jack," he replies, and opens the door. "I promise to come back in one piece."

 

 

Will can tell Hannibal isn't happy about it, but he obeys Will's request and drives him home to Wolf Trap. Will's dogs greet him happily, barreling out as he opens the door to go relieve themselves and sniff around and do whatever else it is dogs do when they're allowed outside. Will remains on the porch, sitting on the steps. Hannibal is a tall shadow at his side, his hands in the pockets of his coat and his eyes sharp on the tree line at the other edge of the road.

Will sighs, cupping his hands together and rubbing them to try and keep them warm. He has his ring in his lap, thoroughly chewed already. His jaws feel better whenever he does it.

Hannibal sighs after a long while of silence. "I don't like it," he says.

Will turns his head up to look at him. Hannibal doesn't meet his eyes – they're still on the tree line like he expects an attack at any moment. He smiles. "Protective, Doctor Lecter?"

"You could say that," Hannibal replies curtly.

"If I don't come back, you can absolutely assume it's because something happened to me out there, and come looking for me."

Hannibal huffs, shifting his weight. "I've never eaten werewolf before," he says lightly.

"That you know of," Will returns. "For all we know, it could be anyone. I have no idea how to tell human from wolf."

"Do you think it'll feel different, when you meet someone you know has been changed?"

Will shrugs. "Maybe," he replies. Winston comes trotting up to his side and Will reaches out to cup his face, petting over his fluffy neck as the dog sits at his side, then lays down with a huff. Will strokes over his soft fur, absently wondering what his own beast form might look like. If he'll look like the black demon that scratched him, or if the change is a reflection of the person.

Hannibal doesn't say anything else, and Will sighs. "You don't have to stay," he says.

Hannibal smiles, finally turning to meet Will's gaze. "I want to," he replies.

Will smiles, and leans against Hannibal's leg, his forehead against Hannibal's thigh. He lets out another pleased sigh when Hannibal draws his hand out of his coat pocket and starts to pet through his hair. "I'm glad you're here with me," he whispers.

"I would never be anywhere else, given the choice," Hannibal replies.

Will's smile widens, and he closes his eyes for a brief moment, before he sighs and straightens, opening his eyes and pushing himself to his feet. "I'm tired," he says, and Hannibal nods. Will whistles for his dogs to return, making sure all of them come back inside, before he and Hannibal enter the house and he closes and locks the door.

He leaves his ring on the dining room table and leads Hannibal to his bedroom and shuts the door there, too, so no one bothers them during the night. He kisses Hannibal, sighing when one of Hannibal's hands tightens in his hair, his other hand flattening on Will's side in a familiar, possessive touch.

"Get some rest," Hannibal says when they pull apart. Will nods, biting his lower lip, and they both dress for bed and curl up together on Will's mattress. The air is pleasantly warm in Will's room despite the chill of the outside air, and Will lets out a soft, contented sound, burying his face in Hannibal's neck.

Hannibal wraps his arms around Will's shoulders, resting on his side so that Will can curl up as tightly to his chest as he pleases, and Will sighs, closing his eyes. He falls asleep to Hannibal's hands gently petting through his hair and down his back, soothed by the presence and warmth of his mate.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> smut was requested in this chapter, and I'm more than happy to oblige :D

Will wakes up warm and comfortable, his face pressed into the crook of Hannibal's elbow, his back to Hannibal's warm chest. He sighs, smiling to himself, and curls up closer to his mate, one heaved breath causing the arm draped around his waist to tighten on instinct. His smile widens, and he lets out a soft, happy rumble when he feels Hannibal's nose bury itself against the curls at the nape of his neck, followed by a gentle press of his lips.

He stretches out until his knee pops, then relaxes with another sigh. He catches Hannibal's hand and brings it to his nose, breathing in their combined scents, the slight tang of sweat-warm skin, the rush of blood behind Hannibal's tendon. Hannibal growls softly, curling his fingers to brush along Will's jaw, and his lips part, an open-mouthed kiss planted to Will's nape that makes him shiver, his stomach tensing up.

"Good morning," Hannibal says, his voice rough.

Will huffs. "Don't think it's morning yet," he says. His eyes don't catch any peek of sunlight from behind his curtains, and he doesn't hear any birds singing their morning songs yet.

"Did you sleep well?"

Will nods, and then turns in Hannibal's arms, smiling when Hannibal's hand goes to his hair instead, petting it back from his face before resting on his spine, pulling him closer. Will tucks his nose under Hannibal's jaw, breathing in his scent from the source, a tendril of joy licking its way down his spine that makes him want to press ever closer. He licks Hannibal's throat, unable to help himself, and shivers when Hannibal's hand tightens.

"I'll take that as a 'Yes'," Hannibal says, swallowing to clear his throat, and Will lets out a happy breath and licks his neck again. His fingers find Hannibal's shirt and curl. "But if we still have time to sleep, you should do it. You have a long day ahead of you."

"I'm not tired," Will argues. He draws back just enough to meet Hannibal's eyes. The room is dark, but he can make out the outline of his face, the paleness of his skin contrasting with the dark edge of his hair. He puts his hand in Hannibal's hair, smoothing it back from his face, and leans in to brush their noses together.

Then, daring and in no mood to deny his body what it wants, he pushes one knee between Hannibal's legs, pulls him close with the hands in his shirt, and huffs happily when he finds Hannibal's mouth. He kisses him deeply, uncaring for their morning breath. Hannibal growls, slides his hand to Will's nape and digs his nails in.

"Not tired at all?" Hannibal says, low and amused, and Will bites his lower lip in answer, stealing another kiss. He rolls his body, pressing his thigh between Hannibal's legs, pleased and purring when he feels Hannibal's hands tighten and his scent gets sharp and heavy with arousal. Hannibal smiles into the next kiss, and rakes his nails down Will's neck, rolling Will so that he's on his back and Hannibal's heavy weight covers him.

Will gasps, shivering with want, and spreads his legs when Hannibal moves so that Hannibal can rest between them. His hands fly to Hannibal's biceps, nails digging into the strong muscle. His mate is so _strong_ , so deliciously well-made. He has the strength and drive to really chase and mount Will, if Will were to run.

He whines, breaking the kiss and baring his throat when Hannibal drags his open mouth down his cheek, nips lightly at his jaw, and finds the tense tendon in his neck where his heart beats strongest. Will trembles at the feeling of Hannibal's teeth at his throat, swallows back a whimper of need when Hannibal's big hands flatten on his flanks, sliding down.

"Is this what you want?" Hannibal says, and it wound be taunting except Will can feel how unsteady his voice has gotten, smell how desperately and deeply he wants Will. It's so satisfying, being able to feel how much Hannibal desires him.

"Yes," he replies all the same, turning his head and kissing Hannibal fiercely. He shivers when Hannibal's fingers curl in his sleep pants, yanking them down his hips and thighs until his knees stop the fabric. He bends his legs, kicking his lounge pants over his feet and off, and Hannibal pulls back, smiling widely, and pushes Will's shirt up and over his head.

"Please," Will gasps, unable to find a good place to settle his hands. He wants to touch everywhere, feel everything. Hannibal's heat calls to him, begs him to bare his teeth and rake his nails down the smooth, tender flesh of his back and his sides. He wants to _bite_.

He whines, and Hannibal shushes him with another kiss, one hand flat on Will's throat and cupping his jaw. "Bare your neck," he growls, soft and commanding, and Will obeys eagerly. "That's it. Good boy, keep your throat open for me."

Oh, _God_. The order makes Will's heart tremble, his thighs shaking with need. Hannibal knows how much things like that affect him now, he knows because Will told him as much. He's naked and vulnerable and exposed and he wants Hannibal to mark him, to ravage his throat, tear at his thighs, mark him so that any wolf that Will meets today knows he's been claimed, that his mate and his Alpha is strong enough to take care of him and protect him.

Hannibal kisses his pulse, and then moves away, sucking a dark mark to the skin just under Will's collarbone, licks down his chest, sets his hands on Will's stomach and digs his nails in. Will trembles with every touch, desperate and dry-mouthed with want.

He turns his head and Hannibal lets out a low growl of warning. "No," he says, and pushes Will's jaw up and to the side again. "Stay just like that."

"Hannibal," Will breathes, reaching blindly and fisting his hands in Hannibal's hair as his mouth moves lower, his teeth find the edge of his jutting ribs and sink in hard enough to bruise. He shivers, arousal and pain meshing together in a delicious cocktail, and he whimpers and clenches his jaw when one of Hannibal's warm hands wraps around his cock, stroking once.

"I'll take care of you, darling," Hannibal murmurs. Will closes his eyes, his breathing heavy and uneven, gasping to the ceiling. "Just relax."

Then, his jaws part, and Will cries out sharply when he feels Hannibal's warm mouth close around the head of his cock. It feels too Goddamn good, hot and wet around Will's sensitive flesh. He tries to force his hands to loosen, not wanting to pull on Hannibal's hair too hard, but he can't make himself let go. His stomach clenches and his hips buck up, chasing the heat of Hannibal's mouth.

Hannibal accepts him with grace, and Will opens his eyes, lifting his head to watch Hannibal's pink mouth wrap around the first few inches of his cock as he sucks him down. He looks decadent, cheeks hollowed, the sharp lines of his cheekbones flushed with warmth. Will swallows, petting his fingers down the side of his face, cupping his jaw loosely.

He bares his teeth when Hannibal tilts his head, meeting his eyes under the fall of his hair, and Hannibal sucks harshly on the head of his cock, tongue pressing to the sensitive place just under the head, and Will's eyes close again, head falling back and to the side to bare his neck once more.

He receives a low rumble of pleasure, a reward for his obedience that shoots lightning up his spine, and the fingers still in Hannibal's hair tighten. Hannibal pulls up with a loud sucking sound, and Will opens his eyes again to see him spit on his fingers, getting them slick. He spreads his legs in welcome invitation.

Hannibal smiles, and covers him again, his free hand in Will's hair as he slides his wet fingers between Will's legs. It's not as good as lubricant but Will doesn't care. He aches, he needs his mate inside him, needs Hannibal to mount him and mark him as deeply as he can. He shivers when Hannibal forces the first finger in, and moans into the kiss he's granted, finally able to let go of Hannibal's hair in favor of petting down his chest instead.

Hannibal kisses his forehead, his temple, tightens his hand in Will's hair and forces his head to one side so he can bite his scruffy jaw as he presses his finger in, curling it up, stretching Will out. It stings, but it's good – it's always so fucking good. Will doesn't know how he'll ever make it another day without this.

"Please," he gasps, licking Hannibal's cheek since it's the only place he can reach. He wraps his arms around Hannibal's shoulders, cradles Hannibal's hips with his thighs as Hannibal stretches him out. " _Alpha_."

He feels the shiver run down Hannibal's spine, and lets out a rumble of his own, pleased that his mate is enjoying him like this.

"Do you want to be on your hands and knees?" Hannibal says, his rough voice growling into Will's neck, and Will shakes. "So I can mount you properly?"

Yes. No. Yes? "I need to see you," Will replies, for that much is the truth, that much he knows. He feels Hannibal shiver again, and wonders just how cruel he's been to his mate in all the time they've been together, holding his affection like a poker hand to his chest. Never again.

He cups the back of Hannibal's neck, pulls him up so he can see Hannibal's eyes. He bites his lower lip, eyelids fluttering when Hannibal pushes another finger inside him, the sting turning sharp for a brief moment before the more urgent, heady heat of arousal overtakes it. "I need you," he whispers, and would be embarrassed at such a declaration if he couldn't see just how much _joy_ burns in Hannibal's eyes, softens his mouth, when he says it. "Please, don't tease me."

"I won't hurt you," Hannibal replies, firm. Decided.

"You won't," Will replies, stroking through his sweat-damp hair. He smiles, blood rushing in his ears, and Hannibal's eyes drop to his mouth and he leans in for another kiss – chaste, but no less passionate. " _Please_."

Hannibal growls, and forces in another finger. Too dry, too soon. Will winces, moaning softly against Hannibal's mouth, his trembling body arching up and craving every inch of heat and strength he can soak in from his mate.

His hands go to Hannibal's shirt, tugging it up until it meets his arms. Hannibal has to pull his fingers out to get it over his head, but Will doesn't care. He needs more than fingers, anyway, and he hopes Hannibal understands that.

"Please," Will begs, one last time. He bites his lower lip, and bares his throat, and Hannibal lets out a sound that's more animal than man. It tugs at Will's chest, like the need to howl, and he shivers and fights to keep his eyes open as Hannibal pushes his sleep pants down to his knees along with his underwear, baring his cock.

Hannibal brings his dirty fingers to his mouth, slicks them with more saliva, and wets the head of his cock with it, jaw bulging at the corner from the promise of pleasure to come. Will sucks in a breath, tensing despite himself, as Hannibal's hands flatten on his thighs, forcing him to spread.

"Are you ready for me, darling?" he asks.

Will nods, frantic, desperate. He reaches out and wraps his fingers over Hannibal's, curling underneath them, squeezing tightly, and Hannibal smiles, knees Will's thighs farther apart, and lets go of one to guide his cock into Will's body.

He doesn't hesitate, and Will is thankful for that. He doesn't think he could handle gentle right now. Hannibal pushes into him, and it stings, but Will doesn't care. He won't dare show any discomfort, especially when Hannibal is already so careful with him.

He digs his nails into Hannibal's forearms, tracing the flex of muscle and tendon there, as Hannibal sinks deeper into him. He arches up, needing it, desperate for it, and Hannibal prowls over his body with a snarl, catches his hair and forces his head to one side so Hannibal can bite his neck, hobble him while he's mounted.

Will cries out sharply when Hannibal's hips connect with his, no less jarring for how careful he is. He wraps his legs around Hannibal's hips, digs his nails into Hannibal's back, and moans when Hannibal opens his mouth and sucks a large, dark bruise onto the side of his neck, too high for a collar to hide it.

One of Hannibal's hands goes to the back of his thigh, pushes him up so the angle is better, and he starts to move like he can smell the desperation in Will's blood, taste it on his skin. They're sweating and slick now, and Will's body parts eagerly for its mate, accepting Hannibal again and again as he builds up a fast, brutal rhythm. Hannibal's fingers are touching the edge of the scars on Will's thigh and Will can barely breathe, barely think. Nothing else exists except the weight of Hannibal over him, the sounds punched out of his gut every time he sinks deep into Will, the feeling of his teeth on Will's tender, submissive throat.

"Yes, _yes_ ," Will cries, dragging the sides of his fingers across Hannibal's shoulders so that he doesn't accidentally scratch him. As reluctant as he'd been before, he finds himself wanting the gloves and the mask that Hannibal will make for him, so he can bare his teeth and use his nails as much as he wants without worrying about hurting his mate.

Hannibal growls, baring his teeth against Will's sweaty neck, and he shifts his weight, pushing himself up onto his knees so he can fuck Will harder, drive deeper. His cockhead brushes along the sensitive place inside of Will and he goes tense, whining with need, rabid with desire. He wants to bite, he wants to _mate_ , properly, instincts he must control rearing its ugly head inside of his chest.

"Hannibal," he bites out, warning, and Hannibal lifts his head. He catches Will's eyes, and it's like he _knows_. He smiles, breathing heavily, and grabs Will's jaw in a tight grip, forcing him to curl up under Hannibal's chest so that Will can't bite him, his forehead tucked too tightly to Hannibal's collarbone for him to catch any flesh. Will whimpers, and Hannibal presses his nose to Will's hair and breathes in deeply. "Thank you."

"I'm here," Hannibal growls in reply, his mouth at Will's temple, tucked in tight. "You're being so good, Will."

Pillow talk Will thinks he would normally hate, in another life. Here, though, it fits. It's so right, and Will wants it. He wants to be good. He wants to make his mate feel good, so that he won't want anything else. Will whines, clenching up around Hannibal's cock as tightly as he can, pleased when he feels Hannibal's rhythm stutter.

His breath hitches, his eyes clenching tightly shut when he feels Hannibal go still, a shudder running down his spine as his orgasm washes over him. Will gasps, hands gentle and soothing down Hannibal's back as his mate finishes, emptying himself inside of Will's desperate, burning body. Hannibal goes lax and heavy on him, hand gentling on his jaw. He pulls out and Will whimpers, sucking in a breath when Hannibal rears back and flattens his hands on Will's thighs, forcing them to stay open.

Hannibal smiles down at him, soft with adoration, and wraps a hand around Will's cock again, his other hand sliding between Will's legs and Will bites his lip, able to feel how wet and open he is, how easily he parts for Hannibal's fingers.

Hannibal sinks two fingers into him, curling them up with assuredness and confidence. He knows every sensitive place on Will's body, knows just how to touch and where to tease to get Will plummeting over the cliffside. His other hand is tight and slow on Will's cock, matching each brush against Will's prostate with an expert flex of his fingers around the head of Will's cock.

Will bites his lower lip, hard enough to hurt, and fists both hands in his hair so he doesn't claw at Hannibal's arms. He arches back, baring his neck, his eyes closing as Hannibal touches him. The scent of him burns Will's nose, the wet, obscene sound of Hannibal's fingers dragging through the seed in Will's body is driving him insane. He wants to touch, to bite, to rip his mate apart and taste his blood.

Hannibal can see it; Will is sure he can. He's always known how to read Will, from wary friendship, to courtship, to platonic love, to sex. "What do you need?" he whispers, voice low and abused and Will gasps, there isn't enough air in the room.

Will bares his teeth, a snarl stuck in his throat, and Hannibal answers him in kind. It hits something in his chest, stutters his heart and makes his stomach sink in. He lifts his head, opens his eyes, lets Hannibal's dark gaze spear him in place.

"Bite me," he demands.

Hannibal smiles. He lets go of Will's cock, drives his fingers in deeply, and wraps his hand in Will's hair, jerking his head to one side, and covers him, strong and heavy. His teeth find Will's exposed, red neck, he parts his jaws, and bites down hard enough to hurt.

Will moans, his jaw clenching as he feels Hannibal's teeth sink into his neck. He doesn't break skin, which is good, but it's a claiming mark all the same – Will's chest goes tight and his vision whites out, he grabs Hannibal's biceps harshly and his body jerks, arching up, bearing down on Hannibal's fingers as his orgasm hits him hard at the back of his neck. Hannibal keeps touching him, fingers touching his prostate so the waves of pleasure keep coming, until they turn sharp and he starts to ache, but Hannibal doesn't stop. Will feels him sucking at his neck, blooming a dark bruise there for all to see, he whimpers and tightens his legs around Hannibal's, unable to get his teeth to unlock, to tell him to stop. But he doesn't want Hannibal to stop, either. He wants to hurt, he wants his mate to keep touching him and using him until his desires are sated.

Hannibal pulls back, and catches Will's gasping mouth in a kiss. He licks over Will's tender bottom lip, his fingers turn gentle and pull out as Will's chest heaves and his thighs start to tremble. The scent of them both is overwhelming, heavy in the air, like breathing through incredible humidity. Will's lungs are wet, his mouth sore, and he kisses Hannibal back with all the passion and fervor he can muster.

Finally, Hannibal lets him go, and Will sits up, whimpering gently as he reaches for Hannibal, not wanting him to go away. Hannibal smiles at him, pets through his hair in a soft touch, and moves so that he's sitting with his back against the wall and Will sprawls over him, his lips at Hannibal's sweaty neck, one hand resting over his slowing heart.

Hannibal wraps his arms around Will's shoulders, sensing his need for closeness. Will has always enjoyed the soft moments after sex, where he can be a little clingy and chalk it up to hormones, but now he's desperate for it, rabid with the need to have his mate next to him as he has always wanted.

Hannibal kisses his temple and Will sighs, closing his eyes and nuzzling Hannibal's shoulder.

"When do you need to leave?" Hannibal asks, whisper-quiet.

Will huffs. "Soon," he replies. "It's a four-hour drive and we want to get there when we know Randall's at the clinic."

"Do you expect to find anything there?"

"Part of me wants to say 'No', that it's too easy, but another part of me thinks that we will. I think we'll find a huge compound, and a good portion of the missing people there too."

"What makes you think that?"

"The pack Alpha can't be too far away that he can't exercise control over his people," Will replies, feeling the truth in the words as he speaks them. "Even if the compound is under supervision, someone he trusted to oversee everything, he won't want to be too far away that he can't come home if he needs to."

"And you think Randall and Jesse have something to do with it?"

"Sometimes it's really that easy."

Hannibal presses his lips together, petting through Will's hair absently. His hand flattens on Will's nape, and Will shivers, curling closer. He pulls the sheets over their legs to trap their heat together. "I don't like the idea of you going in alone," he says.

"I won't be alone," Will replies, smiling fondly. It's funny; Will is arguably the more physically capable of the two of them when it comes to a threat from a werewolf, given that he's already changed, and has claws and teeth that he can use to fight, as well as a gun. But Hannibal is a hunter, and has been killing for most of his life. He's more experienced, and strong, and though he doesn't see Will as weaker or lesser, a protective streak that powerful doesn't just go away.

"But you won't be with me," Hannibal says.

Will sighs, closing his eyes, and nuzzles Hannibal's throat, earning a tightening of his arms in return. "I'll be fine," he says. "Nothing would keep me away from you."

"I'll hold you to that, darling," Hannibal replies, kissing Will's forehead.

 

 

They shower and eat, and Will takes his own car so that he can drive up to Maryland where Randall's compound is. He has to fight for every mile, resisting the urge to turn back and collect Hannibal, to bring him along. It's not quite separation anxiety, not quite worry, but Will would be lying if he said that he didn't feel safer and more in-control with Hannibal by his side.

He gets a call from Jack when he's still thirty miles out from the police station. "Yeah?"

"Randall Tier didn't show up for work this morning," Jack reports, his voice dark. "The entire clinic is closed. Doesn't look routine – their office hours say they should be here."

Will frowns, fighting back his worry. "Must have spooked him," he says. "I'll let Detective Monroe know once I get there."

"I'm sending a team after you," Jack says. "Be careful out there, Will. We might be walking into a firefight."

"I'll let you know as soon as I have more information," Will replies, and ends the call. His fingers curl tightly on the steering wheel, and he forces himself to remain calm and focused. If Randall was spooked by Will's questioning, the first place a pack Alpha would run would be to the compound. They might be trying to move people, to go into hiding. If they do, Will might lose them forever.

He calls Hannibal, but it goes to voicemail. Not a strange occurrence in and of itself – Hannibal might be in a session, or outside with the crew building a kennel for them. He might be napping since Will woke him up and wore him out. He might be hunting. It's not exactly strange.

But Will still worries. He doesn't leave a voicemail, not wanting to make Hannibal anxious. He keeps driving.


	11. Chapter 11

There is a town outside of a wildlife preserve in the northeast corner of Maryland. Will pulls up outside the police station and is greeted with the sight of a surly-looking, round-bellied gentlemen with all the hair on his head clinging to his jowls, and dark eyes with a look like he'd sooner put Will in a headlock than shake his hand.

Will gets out of his car and approaches him. "Detective Monroe?" he asks, and the man nods. He doesn't hold his hand out to shake and Will doesn't offer. He kind of appreciates it, honestly – hostility he can deal with. It's a lot easier to identify and navigate than false respect or kindness.

"You been briefed?" Monroe asks, walking to his cruiser.

Will nods. "How many are coming with us?"

"Just us, for now," Monroe replies. Will bites his lower lip, sighing. He expected as much. "I'm not gonna call in a full SWAT team for what could just be nothin', you understand."

"I do," Will replies. "We'd best move quickly, then. My boss has a unit coming after me and he's expecting hostiles. If we can solve this whole thing without bloodshed, I'll be more than happy to get out of your hair."

Monroe huffs, and gets into his cruiser in the driver's side. Will slides into the passenger seat and the car starts rolling before he gets his door closed. He presses his lips together and resists the urge to roll the window down and stick his head out as they drive.

The township is small and melts away immediately, giving way to rolling farmland and trees. Will can smell the fragrance of mown grass, wet moss and dirt, horses as they pass by a stable yard. He sighs, and thinks about how nice it would be to go rolling in the grass, to stain his hands and knees, and the fond but exasperated smile Hannibal would give him when he returned dirty.

He fishes his phone out of his pocket and sees no calls or texts from Hannibal, either to inquire about his trip or to confirm that he's okay. He tamps down the spark of worry – Hannibal is more than capable of taking care of himself, and he might be busy. Will has demanded so much of his time and attention lately, he probably appreciates returning to his normal work hours, where he can probe and prod the minds of much more damaged individuals.

Will doesn't like that thought at all, and discards it as soon as he can. Hannibal won't grow tired of him – his eyes light up with joy whenever Will touches him, and if his behavior has been any indication, his love and adoration of Will is just as strong as it was when they first began their courtship; the first time he fed Will human flesh; the first time he fed Will human flesh and Will _knew_ ; the first time he asked Will if he could spend the night at his house and Will had agreed.

The drive to the compound is short. It has a high fence, chain-link, so Will can see the buildings beyond. There is a single flat building that looks like it was once a warehouse, a small homely-looking cottage next to it with fireplace smoke coming out of the chimney, and another barn-like structure behind the house. Plenty of places to house people. There are people in the front yard of the house, tending the garden. He rolls down the window and hears a child shrieking with laughter, and the barking of dogs.

He frowns. He's not sure what he expected to find, but this certainly wasn't it.

There is no gate. The fence parts on either side of a driveway, dirt road with rungs in the ground like farmers do to keep their sheep from wandering out of their fields. It's big enough for two cars to enter side by side.

Monroe drives through it and approaches the house, and Will huffs a breath when he sees that one of the women in the garden is Molly, her dog dozing next to her in the sunlight. There's a child, no older than eight, laying down on a blanket next to the dog, and a second woman on her knees by Molly, holding a glass of lemonade and staring at her phone.

They pull up at the end of the driveway and Will gets out of the car, Monroe following behind. Molly looks up, her eyes flashing in recognition, and she stands, brushing herself off.

"Morning, gentlemen," she says coolly. The woman next to her stands as well. "Wally, go get your father."

"Mornin', ma'am," Monroe says with a dip of his chin as the child gets up and goes into the building. "Sorry to disturb you."

"You're not," Molly replies. Her smile is wide and welcoming. Either she's a very good actress, or Will has gotten this situation very wrong. This might not be the place.

Then, the child comes back out, Randall and Jesse following behind. Randall looks at Will, and his whole demeanor darkens – his shoulders tense and Will thinks he might bare his teeth, just briefly. Jesse stands frozen in the shadow of the porch, his eyes wide on Will.

"What can I help you with?" Molly asks as Randall comes up beside her. He puts a possessive hand on her shoulder and Will watches him do it, notes how Randall doesn't break eye contact for a second. Will's spine feels tense, and he thinks the most apt description for how he's reacting would be his hackles rise.

Monroe looks to Will, and clears his throat. Will steps forward. "Are there any others on your property?" he asks.

Molly frowns, tension in her neck, and Randall gives Will a wide smile. "What's this about, Agent Graham?" he asks cordially. If it were any other situation, Will might not have noticed the acid in his voice. Behind him, Jesse goes back into the house, and Will's sensitive ears pick up the sound of the back door opening.

Probably headed to the warehouse, or the barn.

"I just wanted to ask you a few more questions," Will replies, his smile tight. "Your office is closed today, rather abruptly, or I would have come there." He's trying very hard to keep it at a smile and not let the corners of his mouth turn down – tries not to let himself snarl. "And Jesse, if he's available."

Randall's knuckles go white at his side, but the hand on Molly remains gentle. "Baby, why don't you and Eva take Wally inside?" he asks, and she nods, her eyes wide as she looks between them.

A flicker of recognition stirs in his brain, and he looks to the other woman. Eva – she's Jesse's foster mother, or mentor at least. Why on Earth are they all living together?

"No," Will says, raising his hand. "I have a few questions for her, too."

Randall raises an eyebrow and Will can feel Monroe's disbelieving look on the side of his face. Then, another woman comes out of the house. Will recognizes her immediately.

She's one of the missing persons. Janet Blakely. Will blinks at her, and frowns. She looks…normal. Good, well-groomed. She's shorter than he imagined, with a round face and straight black hair down to her neck. She blinks back at him like she's just as surprised to see him.

"Janet Blakely?" Will asks, and she presses her lips together and nods. "You're…looking well."

"Should I be looking any other way?" she asks primly.

"Given that you were reported missing three months ago, I'd say so," Will says.

She smiles, showing her teeth. Will notices they're large and sharp like his are. "Well," she says, and holds her hand out to either side of her. "As you can see, I'm alive and well."

Monroe's gaze has turned from disgruntled to scorching. Will looks at him and flinches at the darkness there. "Excuse us," Monroe says, and takes Will's arm, leading him back to the car. "What the ever-loving Hell, Graham?"

"This…isn't right," Will says, and looks back to the house. Randall and Molly are still standing there, plastic smiles and sharp eyes on Will. Eva, Wally, and Janet have clustered together like a bodyguard entourage behind them. "This shouldn't be happening this way. I need to call Jack."

"I'll call him," Monroe says. "From the station, where I'm taking you back. Leadin' me on a damn wild goose chase. I think I'd know if there was somethin' happening in my own town!"

"There are still other names," Will insists. "You think they're all here? Just because one of them is -."

"Agent Graham, these people might not be missing. And frankly, the FBI shouldn't be involved unless there are bodies, and unless you're invited to my jurisdiction. Well, I'm un-inviting you. Go home."

Will swallows. He clears his throat and lifts his head, putting his eyes back on Randall. "Fine," he tells Monroe. "Give me a second."

Monroe huffs, and Will approaches the house again. He manages a tight smile. "Sorry for wasting your time," he says. Randall's smile sharpens. "Though I think you could have mentioned that your client base was moving in with you."

"Now, Agent," Randall says cheerily, "what people do of their own free will is hardly the FBI's problem, is it? I doubt many of them even knew they were meant to be 'Missing'. As Janet said, she's right here."

Will swallows, fights the urge to growl. "Well, again, sorry for disturbing you," he says, and turns away. Just as he does, the wind changes, and he freezes.

That scent…

He stops, looks over his shoulder to Randall and Molly. They're still watching him, and Will meets and holds their gaze, and takes in another deep breath. He knows that scent, as surely as he knows his own name.

Hannibal.

His eyes narrow and Randall's smile widens. He lifts his chin; a challenge.

Will jumps when the car horn honks, blaring him back into focus. His fingers curl and he tightens his shoulders, marching back to the car and sliding in.

He'll be back within the hour.

 

 

When he returns to the station, Monroe deposits him on the side of the road, his ear already to his phone and calling the FBI BSU. Will sighs, and calls Jack, receiving an answer immediately.

"What happened?" he demands.

"One of the missing persons was there," Will replies. "And Randall, and Jesse. And another employee of the vet clinic. I'm sure the others are there too."

Jack huffs. "What do you think?"

"I don't know," Will replies. He looks over his shoulder to confirm that Monroe isn't in earshot. The man doesn't seem to have any interest in prolonging their interaction. Will sees him walk through the doors of the police station and disappear from sight. "I'm going back. Alone. I need to get a better feel for the place."

Jack hesitates, and says softly. "You know, officially, I can't sanction this," he warns.

"I know," Will replies. "I understand."

"Good," Jack says. "Figure it out."

Will nods to himself, hangs up, and gets in his car. He keeps the windows rolled down and calls Hannibal, growling when it goes to voicemail after ringing a few times.

"I swear to God, Hannibal," he growls, slamming his hand against the steering wheel as the recorded message plays before the beep. "You better be in serious danger or I'm going to kill you." He throws his phone into the passenger seat, knuckles white on the wheel and a low growl in his chest as he spies the chain-link fence to the compound rising up in the distance.

He drives right up to the house and skids to a halt. No one is in the garden anymore. He gets out of the car and stops, taking a deep breath.

He knows, intimately, what fear smells like. The crackle of static in one's lungs right before a storm hits. The way the air thickens, gets wet and ripe along the roof of one's mouth, feels bristly and gentle all at the same time. That's what fear smells like.

This isn't quite fear. It feels…anticipatory.

Will's upper lip curls, briefly, before he forces his shoulders to settle. He doesn't catch any flick of the curtains, any movement except the rustle of grass and a flutter of wings as birds alight on the barn roof. His eyes flash to the warehouse, then back to the barn.

"Now," he whispers, "if I were housing a dozen people that I'd just turned into animals, where would I keep them?"

The warehouse is larger, and could be sectioned off into living spaces. The barn looks worn but sturdy. That would be the place he'd keep new wolves, before they acclimated to their new lives.

Decided, Will nods to himself, and heads towards the warehouse.

He doesn't have his gun on him – it won't do any good in close quarters and Will won't risk it getting taken from him. His teeth feel large in his mouth, his gums itch, and his fingers are curled tight enough that his nails dig into his palms so hard that they hurt.

The door is closed and Will stalks towards it, ears pricked for any movement inside. He looks over his shoulder and sees and hears no one. Nothing. He presses his lips together and yanks the door open, stalking inside.

The innards are very dark, a single row of dim lights on the ceiling illuminating a walkway, and several sectioned-off little rooms like prison cells. The walls are like those of an office and Will presses his lips together, keeping close to the right-hand side as he tilts his head and listens for movement within.

He hears, very faintly, a small cry like a young child. Then the frantic noise of a mother shushing it.

"Randall!" he yells. If they know he's here, there's no point in staying quiet. "Jesse! Come on out."

"Go away!" comes a reply – high-pitched and young like a teenager. Will frowns, remembering a teen's face in the missing person's reports.

"Is that Jeremy?" he calls. "Jeremy Thomas?"

"Go away!" the voice yells again. "They're not here. Go away!"

Will snarls under his breath, and prowls out into the hallway. Three doors down, he hears heavy breathing and sees a shaft of light from beneath the wall. There are doors in each section and he tests the handle, finds it locked.

"Let me in," he commands.

"Get away from them!"

It's Jesse, and Will turns to see him standing at the other end of the warehouse. The kid's eyes are bright and wild, his fangs bared, and Will sees red.

"Where is he?" he demands, walking towards Jesse. Jesse goes low, ready for an attack, but Will is an animal too, and he knows how to fight. He knows how to hunt – much more than this glorified wolf puppy would. Jesse lunges for him, stupid mistake, reckless, and Will grabs him by the collar of his shirt, kicks at his ankle to send him to his knees, and throws him down onto his back, using his superior weight and strength to keep the kid pinned. He flattens his hand to Jesse's throat and squeezes until Jesse gasps, wide-eyed on Will. His claws scratch at Will's wrist, instinctively wanting to defend his throat, and Will's smile is nothing short of feral, off-kilter and showing his teeth.

He leans in and pushes Jesse's hair back from his face, fists his hand in the streak of blue and yanks his head back so his neck is exposed. "I won't ask again," he promises. He can smell Hannibal on Jesse, smell his cologne and his skin. If he smells blood on _any_ of them, those responsible will not live to see another day.

Jesse gasps, and lets out a soft whimper. Will blinks, his chest getting tight at the sound. It's the noise a frightened pup makes when there's a storm, curled up tight to their mother's flank and hoping to remain safe and dry while nature rages on around them. He loosens his hand without meaning to and Jesse gasps, hauling in a lungful of air.

Will snarls, showing his fangs, and Jesse whimpers again. "Tell me where he is," he says. "You have my mate. You know you do. _Where is he_?"

"In – in the barn," Jesse replies. Will looks up when a door opens, revealing a teenage boy with freckles and orange hair. Jeremy – Will recognizes him. Another missing person. Are they all here? Are they all wolves?

"Who else is with him?" Will demands, tightening his hand on Jesse's throat again. Jesse whines and Jeremy flinches at the sound. His fangs are small, but he shows them anyway, a pup trying to cow an older, stronger wolf. Will meets his eyes and growls again. "Tell me, or I'll kill him. You want your brother to die?"

Not brothers by blood, but Will has new instincts now. Instincts that recognize the bond between pups in a pack. Jeremy's green eyes are wide and tear-filled. Will might feel guilty about that later.

He might not.

"Who else?" he demands, and jerks Jesse's head, causing him to whimper.

"No one!" Jeremy says, holding up his hands. He falls to his knees and tries to crawl closer, stayed by Will's low, rumbling snarl. "No, he -. None of us are allowed in the barn. That's where the ferals go."

So, just Randall. Maybe. Unless the women are in there too – they live in the house, they're members of the Alpha's family, not just his pack. Will growls and shoves himself to his feet, letting Jesse go. Jesse rolls onto his side, coughing and rubbing at his throat, and Will steps away from him and holds his hand out to Jeremy.

"It's alright," he purrs when Jeremy lifts scared, teary eyes to him. "You're gonna come with me to the barn, okay? I just want to talk to the Alpha."

Jeremy swallows, eyes darting to Jesse, then over Will's shoulder when another door opens. Will turns, and looks into the eyes of another missing person – this one an older man, closer to his age, blond and pretty. The Alpha certainly has a type.

He hears a growl, and turns just in time for Jesse and Jeremy to lunge at him at once. His shoulders hit one of the walls and he snarls, swinging wildly and landing a punch to Jeremy that sends his small body staggering back. Jesse's teeth sink into his shoulder and Will hisses, but fights the urge to bite back. He's wrestled his dogs before, when they're less than friendly. He knows how to handle wild animals.

He digs his nails under Jesse's jaw, yanking him back with a tight hand to the nape of his neck. Jesse submits instantly, gasping and spitting out a mouthful of blood. His shoulders are tensed up, everything in him wanting to fight but held back by the grip Will has on his neck.

Will growls, rolls his shoulders, and looks at him. Really looks at him. "It was you, wasn't it?" he asks. Jesse's eyes flash to him under his sweaty hair, then lower. "You're the one who turned me."

Jesse spits at his feet and growls. Will smiles. The boy's got pluck, he'll give him that.

"Let's take a walk," he says, and rakes his nails down Jesse's nape, curls his fingers in the collar of his shirt, and hauls him back towards the door. "Any of you follow me and I'll be much less kind."

"Don't hurt him!" Jeremy cries. When Will looks back, he sees all of the wolves have come out of their homes now. They all look good, well-fed and well cared for. He swallows when he sees all those familiar faces, each matching their DMV photographs or smiling faces provided by their families.

He stops. "This could have been avoided, you know," he says coolly. "Your families – your _real_ families – all think you're missing. You could have returned home, and socialized. Then I would have never come here."

"You don't know anything," the older man spits. The blond. His name is Henry, if Will remembers correctly. "You're a lone wolf. You won't survive on your own, without a pack."

Will smiles, and thinks of Hannibal, and Alana, and Margot, and Jack. "I have a pack," he replies, and opens the door, shoving Jesse through. "Raise an alarm and I'll kill every last one of you."

"You won't win," Jesse spits, as Will closes the warehouse door and marches them towards the barn. There's still no movement, nothing to indicate that Randall knows he's returned, but Will isn't naïve enough to think that. He can probably smell Will in the wind. "We outnumber you. We're stronger."

Will's smile widens. He walks up to the barn and slams his fist against the door. "Randall!" he yells. He can smell Hannibal, so much stronger here. He's inside, Will knows he is.

He hears a shift of weight, and a low snarl. It's the snarl of an Alpha – Will feels it echo in his chest, and he swallows. A shiver runs down his spine and it makes him want to fall to his knees. He rubs his hand over the side of his neck and Jesse huffs, grinning with bloody teeth.

"I told you," he says.

Will growls, and tightens his hold, lifting Jesse up to act as a shield between him and whatever is inside. "Open the door," he says, and Jesse growls but obeys, shoving one of the doors to one side. The innards are also dark, illuminated only by light coming in from the hayloft.

Hannibal is there. Will almost drops his hold on Jesse when he sees him. There's blood on his temple, and his jaw has the deep blossom of a bruise on it, but Will doesn't see any other wounds. No one has bitten or scratched him, and Will lets out a sigh of relief.

Randall is standing behind him. He smiles when he sees Will, though his eyes are dark with outrage at Jesse's state. Will shoves them in and closes the door behind them. He doesn't see any trace of Molly, Eva, or Wally, but he knows better than to think they're not nearby, ready to lend help if needed to their Alpha.

"Agent Graham," Randall sighs. He circles to Hannibal's side. Hannibal is bound to a chair, his wrists and ankles ties crudely with huge knots of rope. There's one around his neck, too, and Will stifles his snarl at the sight. The floor is covered with blood, spanning back more months than Will could count, a scattering of hay and mud, and bloody clumps of fur. Clearly this is where wolves are taken during their first change, their first full moon, and Will doesn't let himself think about what lies in store for him when the time comes. "So kind of you to join us."

"Let him go, Randall," Will says.

"Why should I?" Randall asks, seeming genuinely curious. His head tilts to one side.

Hannibal lifts his head and meets Will's eyes.

"The FBI knows I'm here," Will says. "They know where you are, and we're onto you. If I don't come back, there's another unit less than an hour away. They'll storm the place if I don't call them off, and I'm not leaving without him."

"Hmm." Randall turns to face Hannibal, his smile never moving, and reaches out to touch Hannibal's hair. He fists his hand in it and yanks his head back and Will snarls: a warning. One he won't repeat. "And what will they find? A bunch of people living peacefully?"

"They'll find your carcass strewn between here and D.C. if I have anything to say about it."

Randall laughs, and lets Hannibal go. Hannibal meets Will's eyes again and Will sees a flicker of something in them. It's an instinct he knows well. He turns his gaze on Randall so that he doesn't smile.

"Now, Will, that's not very lawful of you."

"You're not a killer, Randall," Will replies sharply.

"No," Randall replies. "You're right. I'm not. But one bite, one scratch from me, and your mate here is just as stuck as you are."

"If you touch him I'll rip your boy's throat out right here," Will says, baring his teeth and yanking Jesse's head to one side, exposing his throat. Randall's eyes flash and he growls. "You know he's the one who turned me, right? It's his fault."

Randall blinks, and frowns.

Will does let himself smile, then. "You know, they teach us about pack mentality in the BSU," he says. "It's never the followers that make the kingdom fall. It's always the Beta. You think Jesse was just walking dogs, helping animals, minding his own business? He's out there every full moon, bringing back new wolves. Did you ever ask him where they came from?"

"He's lying," Jesse bites out. "Alpha, I -."

"Shh." Will smiles and, making sure he holds Randall's gaze, leans down so his chin rests on Jesse's neck. He could easily bite down and shred his throat if he wanted to, and Randall knows that. "No one needs to get hurt here, Randall. Let him go. Disappear. I don't want to slaughter your whole pack, but I will if I have to."

Randall laughs. It's loud, borderline hysterical. "You can't," he says, and spreads his arms out wide. "You're just one wolf. A pup at that. You haven't even turned yet."

Will smiles. It's the challenge he was waiting for. "You want to settle this like wolves?" he asks. He pushes Jesse out from him, holds him by the nape at his side, arm extended all the way. "Come on, then, _Alpha_."

Randall's eyes flash. He tilts his head to one side, curious, ravenous. "You want to challenge me?" he murmurs, his voice a low purr.

"Will," Hannibal warns.

"Hush now," Randall snaps, looking to Hannibal for a brief moment, before he sets his eyes on Will again. "The stakes are very high, Agent Graham."

"Name them," Will replies.

Randall's smile widens. His eyes start to flicker a different color – darker, redder at the edges. His fangs are large in his mouth when he bares them. Will's own mouth is dry. He thinks it would be very satisfying to have Randall's throat in his teeth.

"If you win," Randall begins, "you'll be the Alpha. That's how it works." Will nods. "When I win…you must submit to me. Accept your place among my pack." Will presses his lips together. "Your mate, too." Will hesitates, and fights with all his might not to look at Hannibal. Randall's smile widens. "I'll make an example of the both of you."

Will frowns. Fighting for his survival is one thing – but putting Hannibal's life at stake as well?

"Will," Hannibal murmurs, and Will swallows back his whine, meeting his mate's dark eyes. Hannibal is steady, and calm. He's the only thing Will has smelled in this place that doesn't reek of fear. Then, Hannibal smiles – it's a ghost of an expression, only visible because Will knows to look for it. He dips his head in a single, short nod.

Permission. Trust. Faith.

Will swallows, and nods. "I accept," he replies. He lets Jesse go and Jesse collapses onto his hands and knees, crawling to the edge of the barn floor. Randall crows with delight and steps forward, illuminated from behind by the sunlight coming in from the hayloft. "To the death, then?"

"Is there any other way?" Randall purrs.

Will smiles. "Randall, I'm afraid you've made a very big error in judgement here," he says. Randall frowns. "You're not a killer. You said so yourself."

"Exceptions can be made," Randall growls, baring his teeth. He takes another step forward and Will tenses, ready. He doesn't lower himself to the ground, he doesn't relent. He meets Randall's eyes steadily, looks for vulnerabilities in his neck and his chest. He imagines peeling Randall's jaws apart until they snap, imagines tearing through his ribcage and pulling out his heart while it still beats.

His smile widens, and he feels the same kind of calm overtake him as it does before he reads a crime scene. This is an inevitability – something for Will to construct in real time. His chest is tight with excitement, his mind howling at him to go for the kill.

"The problem is," he says smoothly, unbuttoning the sleeves of his shirt and rolling them up to his elbows. He thinks of Hannibal doing the same thing before preparing a meal for them, and wonders if he could convince Hannibal to try werewolf meat, and see if it tastes any different. "You never asked me if _I'm_ a killer."

Randall doesn't hesitate in his movements, but his eyes flash. Doubt, there and then gone again, but there all the same. A flicker of fear. Will takes a deep breath in and curls his fingers at his sides, and meets Hannibal's gaze one more time.

"You're not a killer," Randall breathes. But he doesn't sound sure.

Will sighs. "Time to learn that lesson the hard way."

Randall snarls, and Will smiles.

He lunges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the cliffhanger! The chapter was getting a little long.


	12. Chapter 12

Will has blood in his mouth. It's a mix of his and Randall's. His hands are on either side of the wolf's shoulders, Randall's face planted to the floor. He probably can't breathe, but Will doesn't care. He snarls, wrinkles his nose, and bites down harder.

"Will."

The pendulum swings. Randall comes at him, circles until Will is in front of Hannibal. Claws rip into his chest and he snarls, swings his own, catches the Alpha's ear and rips the lobe off. The pendulum swings again. Randall's shoulder is bloody from his torn ear, his teeth shine with saliva and it falls from his jaws like he's salivating at the idea of getting Will's neck in his teeth.

When the barn door opens, Will feels eyes on him, a sharp female cry of alarm. "Randall!"

"It's an Alpha fight," Jesse says, weak and whimpering. "You know the rules."

The pendulum swings. Randall catches Will's arm and kicks his leg, throws him down to his knees at Hannibal's feet. He yanks Will's hair back, exposing his throat, and Will grits his teeth, gets his legs under him, throws them both back onto the ground and rolls, ripping Randall's hand from his hair. He snarls, lunges, and Randall prowls away from him. His hands are getting slick with Will's blood, it'll make him more violent, less coordinated. It's harder to grab flesh and clothes when your hands are wet.

There's a rumble stuck in Will's chest, and he follows Randall towards the edge of the barn, throws himself against the wolf's chest and Randall fights back, kicks at his stomach, sending him sprawling on the floor. Randall leaps for him, his claws in Will's wrists, his knees digging into Will's stomach.

"Not much a killer, are you, pup?" Randall says, smirking, cocky.

Will bares his teeth at him. His chest feels wild and expansive – there's something there, something with fur and fangs, pacing its way along the cages of Will's human nature. If he can find a way to let it free, terrible things are going to happen.

The pendulum swings. Will headbutts Randall, their skulls cracking together with a loud sound, and Randall groans, holds his head. Will rolls away from him, gets to the balls of his feet and his knuckles, ape-like, animal.

The pendulum swings. Randall's teeth are huge in his mouth. The silhouettes of his pack blur the light coming in from outside, but it's more light than Will has had before.

"Kill him!" Molly shrieks. "Kill him, Randall!"

Will bares his teeth, parts his jaws, and his eyes find Hannibal's. Hannibal has his head tilted to one side, watching Will as he might watch a curious insect crawling its way across his arm. At any moment, he will be cradled in Hannibal's fingers, or flicked away to die underfoot. Will snarls at him, wild and red, and Hannibal smiles.

"Darling," he calls, as Randall staggers to his feet. "Stop playing with your food."

Will smirks. The pendulum swings again. Randall is limping, his shoulders sagging. He's exhausted, too large to keep up a savage fight. He's an older wolf, tempered by time, and Will wonders how exhausting it is to go through so many full moons – how many he's had, and if every time his human self comes back a little weaker.

He knows the call of something like that, the deep-driven instinct to fight and hunt, and he pursues it readily. Hiding in a person suit is an exhaustive task.

His smirk widens, shows all of his teeth, and Randall stands with his bleeding ear and the claw marks Will put into his chest showing through his shirt. He widens his stance, lowers himself to a crouched position, ready for Will to lunge.

"I want to keep playing," Will says, not looking at Hannibal, but he knows Hannibal knows the words are for him.

"Jack's crew will be here soon, Will," Hannibal replies.

Hannibal doesn't know that Will called them off. He smiles, purring quietly in his chest, and starts to circle Randall. Randall mimics him, chest and shoulders heaving. Will puts his back to the pack, trusting that they won't attack. They know the rules.

Randall straightens when he reaches Hannibal's side, and he smiles, off-kilter and fanged. Will bares his teeth when he sets a hand on Hannibal's shoulder, circles the back of his chair, and rests his chin on top of Hannibal's head.

"Don't touch him," Will growls.

"He'll make a fine wolf," Randall replies, too-lightly. He threads a bloody hand through Hannibal's hair and Will snarls, and lunges. He knocks Randall away and throws him onto the floor between Hannibal and the pack. Randall lands on his stomach, winded, and Will jumps on him, drives a knee into his spine hard enough to hear something snap – a rib, probably. He catches Randall's shoulders in his hands and bites down hard enough to sever the skin at the nape of his neck.

The pendulum swings, and Will is back at the beginning.

"Will." Hannibal's voice cuts through the bloodlust, tames the howling beast in Will's chest. Will snarls, tightens his teeth, and purrs when he hears Randall whimper. "Will."

Will parts his jaws, lifts his head. His mouth and chin are soaked in blood, and he sees the pack staring at him, wide-eyed and afraid. Jesse is cowering in the corner, his hand at his own throat, and whimpers when Will meets his eyes.

Will turns, his gaze finds Hannibal's. Hannibal's eyes are dark, his smile small and proud, and Will licks his lips and shivers at the taste of life on his tongue. He could end it right now. He could -.

"Will," Hannibal says again, and Will snaps his attention to his Alpha, perks his ears up. "Let him go."

Will frowns. His fingers curl in Randall's shoulders, and he drops his gaze down to the other wolf. He whines, and licks his lips again. "He's mine," he says, quiet and plaintive.

Hannibal smiles. "If you kill him, you'll have to take control of the pack and explain why Jack's prime suspect went missing. It will be messy, Will."

Will whines again. He knows Hannibal is right, but he doesn't want to acknowledge it. He has no desire to lead a pack, no desire to be one of these things at all despite the joys it has brought him. He looks up, to Jesse, and then meets Molly's wide, tear-filled eyes.

He lets up on the pressure just enough that Randall can turn his head and he leans down, nuzzles Randall's bloody hair, parts his jaws by Randall's shredded ear. "If you yield," he growls, "what happens?"

"You still won," Randall replies.

Will snarls. "I should kill you right here, right now."

"Will," comes Hannibal's voice. "Drop him."

Will jerks immediately, his eyes on Randall's terrified face. He's coughing up blood, and needs medical attention sooner rather than later.

Will nods, decided, growling. "You will leave this place," he says. "You will have every pack member call their families, remove them from the missing persons list. You will stay out of my territory, and never make another wolf without that person's consent."

Randall snarls, baring his teeth, and Will slides one hand to his shredded neck. He digs his nails in and shakes him like he's a growling dog. "Do you understand me?" Will demands.

Randall gasps, trembles. His eyes are starting to lose focus. "Yes," he breathes.

"And will you obey?"

"Yes," Randall says again, and Will snarls, upper lip curling back. His eyes feel hot, prickling, and his vision is starting to cloud. Randall looks more like colors than a man – hot-orange and purple around his heart. He bites down on what remains of Randall's ear and Randall cries out, sharp and high. "Yes, Alpha!"

The monster in Will's chest purrs, and Will smiles, pushing himself to his feet. He meets Molly's eyes, and then kicks at Randall, sending him onto his back with a groan. "Tend to him," he commands sharply. She rushes forward with Eva, and Jesse and Jeremy run to him as well, helping him to his feet. Jesse and Molly both take an arm and help him stagger out of the barn, towards the house.

Eva meets his gaze, her jaw flexing and tight. "You'd drive us out of our home?" she demands, folding her arms across her chest.

Will presses his lips together, and nods, sharply. "This is what happens when you follow a man blindly," he replies. "His sins are yours, and with him, you must go. I claim none of you."

At Eva's side, Jeremy howls, his eyes filled with tears. "We're not monsters like you!" he says.

Will turns away, his eyes on Hannibal. Hannibal meets his gaze, unflinching, unblinking. He goes to Hannibal's side and undoes one of the knots of rope around his wrist, and Hannibal nods at him – he can manage the others. Will must keep his eyes on the wolves.

"This wouldn't have happened if you'd been smarter about it. I never had to get involved," Will says coolly, standing as a guard between Hannibal and the pack as Hannibal frees himself. His fingers curl when Jeremy bares his teeth. "You should thank Jesse – it's his fault I'm here, that I'm like you."

"You'll never be like us," Eva says coldly. Will blinks, abruptly realizing that what he's seeing on their faces is fear – still, they are utterly terrified of him. He frowns, bites his lower lip, and winces, rubbing at his eyes. They itch. "You're a carnivore. A monster. There's no help for something feral like you."

Will balks, but before he can answer, he feels Hannibal coming up behind him, breathes in his mate's scent deeply past the blood and sweat on his tongue. Hannibal's hand flattens on the nape of his neck and Will sags. He wants to curl into Hannibal, nuzzle and hold him and be held in turn, but he's dirty and bloody and he won't ruin Hannibal's fine clothes or risk both of them walking out of here with that kind of mess on them.

"Will," he says, his voice as low and soothing as ever, and Will sighs, closes his eyes, and nods. He lets Hannibal take his hand and lead him out of the barn, through the gathering of wolves. He senses no threat at all from them – they are tagged and tamed dogs, no more of a threat to Will than his own animals are.

Will goes to his car. He doesn't see Hannibal's anywhere. "They took me from the house," Hannibal says mildly.

Will upper lip curls, and he stifles a snarl. "I want to hurt them," he says.

"I know."

Will stops by the car, his eyes raising to the cut on Hannibal's head. "They hurt you," he murmurs, and reaches out to gently touch Hannibal's cheek with one finger. He won't risk touching the wound or licking it clean like he wants to – won't risk Randall's blood mixing with Hannibal's and turning him into a werewolf as well. Will has no idea how the disease is communicated, and he won't do something that rashly by accident.

His chest hurts, Randall's claws dug shallowly but long. He's bleeding from his stomach and wrists, but he doesn't care.

"I felt…something," Will adds, when Hannibal merely looks at him. Hannibal appears to be wholly unaffected by the ordeal, one way or another, but Will is standing on shaky ground. He doesn't like how much he wanted to hurt Randall – doesn't like how much he still does. "When I fought him. Like there was this animal in my chest and I knew, if I let it out…" He swallows, clears his throat, drops his gaze to Hannibal's neck. "What do you think Eva meant? That I'm feral?"

"I don't believe that," Hannibal replies, always so calm, so in control even when he's strapped to a chair and his life rests in someone else's hands. Will bows his head and rests his forehead on Hannibal's chest, trembling when Hannibal's strong arms wrap around his shoulders, a hand goes to his hair and gently combs through his blood-wet curls.

"…Will?"

Will tenses at the sound of Molly's voice. He snarls in instinct, pulling himself from Hannibal's arms and placing himself between the two of them. She flinches. There's blood along her shoulders – Randall's blood – and staining her neck. She's holding a journal in her hands and, eyes lowered, and head bowed, she holds it out to him.

Will blinks at her, calmed at the sight of her submissive posture, and takes the journal. "What is this?"

"My mate has been building our pack for months," she says. Her dark eyes flash up, then away again, and she keeps her hands at her sides, non-threatening and placative. "That journal has the name and physical description of every person we've taken. It also details the variations in their first week of infection, and their first full-moon turn."

Will frowns down at it. "Why are you giving me this?"

"You could have killed him," Molly replies. "You didn't. Take it as a token of gratitude, and a promise that we won't ever see each other again."

Will huffs, his mouth twitching at the corner. At the noise, she finally lifts her eyes and lets her shoulders go lax. Will nods to her. "I won't bother you if you don't bother me," he says, and she presses her lips together, and nods.

Hannibal sighs beside him, his hand settling on Will's shoulder, and squeezes. Will smiles at him, his hands shaking as the adrenaline rush of the fight starts to fade, leaving him weak and tender in his mate's arms.

"It was you, wasn't it?" he asks her, meeting her eyes once more. "I heard you, calling for me, at my house."

She swallows, and nods. "Yes," she says, and her eyes dart to Hannibal's, over Will's shoulder. "Jesse told me about you, told me where to find you." She takes another deep breath. "A werewolf without a pack usually responds to the call of the Alpha female, or Alpha male. I didn't understand why you told me to go away." She looks at Hannibal again. "I understand, now."

Will smiles, warmth blossoming in his chest when Hannibal pets down his back.

"Good luck, Will," Molly finishes, manages a tight smile that shows her fangs. "I hope we never see you again."

"Same here," Will replies. She nods, and turns and runs back to the house. Will and Hannibal go to the car and Hannibal slides into the driver seat, and Will takes his phone and calls Jack.

"Will?" Jack asks, strained and relieved all at once.

"I found them, Jack," Will says. "All of them." He can see their faces like they're staring at him from the missing persons file. "Randall had them all, but none of them claim they're missing. They agreed to call their families and…well, I guess that's that. Case closed."

Jack huffs. "Took you a while to get that," he says, too slowly.

Will sighs. "Unfortunately, it's not illegal to have a bunch of people living together on a compound. You could try going after Randall for wrongful filing of a missing persons' report, but I don't think it'll stick. I don't think any of these guys will turn on him."

Jack lets out a quiet, aggravated sound. "But they're well cared for?"

"Yes," Will replies.

Jack sighs. "Alright. Good job, Will." Will bites his lower lip, a fissure of warmth settling in his spine at the praise. "I'll see you when you get back in town."

"Actually, I'll see you tomorrow," Will replies, his eyes on Hannibal. "It's been a long day, and I'd like to stay home."

"Alright, tomorrow then," Jack replies. "Bye."

Will hangs up, and smiles when Hannibal's hand flattens over his thigh. They cross the gate at the end of Randall's driveway and turn away from town, headed South. Will looks down at the journal in his lap, smears Randall's blood over the leather cover, and sighs.

"You performed admirably, Will," Hannibal says.

Will huffs. "Wasn't a performance," he replies. "I didn't kill him, only because you asked me not to."

"Well, I'm satisfied with the ending here, all the same."

"I'll kill him if I see him again," Will says tightly. "You won't stop me a second time."

"And what would you have done, with a pack of children like that?"

"I don't know," Will replies, turning his gaze out to the rolling green fields and trees as they pass. He resolves, when he gets home and showers, that he will spend the rest of the day in Hannibal's yard, rolling around in the grass until Hannibal calls him inside.

"Do you still want to hurt him, Will?"

"Yes," Will replies, without reservation. "I want to…feel all of their necks in my teeth." He swallows, looks down at his lap again. "I liked it when I overpowered him. When he called me 'Alpha'."

"This creature in your chest is a beast," Hannibal says coolly. "It seeks dominance and control, just as the man does."

Will frowns. "Not over you," he murmurs.

Hannibal smiles, and turns his head to face Will briefly. He tucks his fingers under Will's chin and lifts it, turns him, exposing his throat. "My monster is a lot older than yours, darling," he says quietly. Will shivers at the sound of his voice.

He swallows harshly, aches to feel Hannibal's hand at the back of his neck again. Like he can hear Will's thoughts, Hannibal's fingers uncurl, drag through the blood on his cheek and jaw, and wrap around his nape, squeezing gently. Will collapses forward in his seat, elbows on his knees, gasping.

"You're not afraid of me, right?" he whispers.

"How could I be afraid of that which delights me so?" Hannibal replies. His hand wraps in Will's hair, tugs his head up, and Will gasps, trembling. "You did well, Will. You are a fine wolf, a beautiful mate. I'm proud to call you mine."

The fissure of heat in Will's spine grows claws, rakes down his back. Will shivers, takes Hannibal's hand from his hair and presses his knuckles to his lips, kissing him, hands gentle around Hannibal's wrist and lacing through his fingers.

He closes his eyes and bows his head, rests his forehead against Hannibal's hand. "I'm so glad you're alright," he confesses, for he could not allow himself to show worry, or fear, before. He can now. "I don't know what I would have done if they'd…"

He can hear the smile in Hannibal's voice when he replies. "I'm sorry you were worried."

Will huffs. "Understatement."

"At the risk of testing your nerves further, I will say that I do not believe Randall would have let us live." Will frowns, lifting his head. "He spoke to me, when I was taken. He seemed to think you were weak, for having a human mate, for living in solitude. That kind of lifestyle is hard to overcome."

"Eva called me a carnivore," Will say, frowning.

Hannibal nods. He looks at Will, briefly, and then away. "Your eyes changed when you fought," he says quietly. "They changed color, and bright, like gold. I believe that's what happens when wolves are given a particular kind of diet."

"I don't understand."

"Human, Will. Randall knew what kind of food we ate. He could smell it, when he came for me."

"How can he think either of us weak, knowing what we are?"

Hannibal shrugs. "I suppose that's where the pride kicked in," he says with a smile. "It's a remarkable emotion; pride. It blinds men to a lot of things."

"If my diet makes me more ferocious, makes me wilder, it needs to change," Will says, swallowing at the thought of not eating at Hannibal's table, of forcing his mate to change his lifestyle. He wouldn't, of course, but Will also knows Hannibal would do a lot to accommodate him.

Or, worse – cast him aside, now that Will's tastes no longer suit him.

Hannibal presses his lips together. "Is that what you want?"

"I don't want to hurt you," Will whispers.

Hannibal falls silent. He appears to be deep in thought. His hand returns to Will's thigh and rests there, not squeezing but firm, like he needs the touch to remind himself that Will is there. Will busies himself with grooming – he licks his hands and swipes at the blood on his face, cleaning his skin off as best he can. The clothes are a lost cause and he'll need a shower for his hair, but the less obviously murderous he appears to a casual observer, the better. Especially as they approach more populated areas.

"How about this," Hannibal says, after what feels like an eternity but, in reality, was hardly more than twenty minutes. "Until we receive concrete evidence otherwise, we will continue as though nothing has changed. We will study this journal of Randall's, and learn all we can from it in regards to what to expect as the full moon approaches. Then, we will experience one together, and if there is any evidence to support the theory that, with a human diet, you are unstable and untamable, we will change it."

Will frowns. "We should do it the other way around," he protests, though he doesn't want to. "Keep me calm and placid, chained up the first time. Then let the leash slacken as I get control."

Hannibal shakes his head, like he expected this reaction. "I would rather know what you needed than operate through guesswork," he replies. "The full moon is one night, but I believe you will experience changes in the days prior to it. If you become so aggressive that you cannot stop baring your teeth at me, we will introduce the muzzle. The same with the gloves. Then, if necessary, a leash, or the kennel. But I would have you fight harder, when the stakes are higher, than allow you to become 'placid' and then try and overcome yourself when given a little bit of freedom."

Will opens his mouth to protest, but stops when Hannibal looks at him. "You're not a wild animal, Will," he says, firmly, decisively, and Will realizes that his decision has already been made. And Will cannot turn anywhere else for help. If he told Alana what he was, she'd have him put away, or laugh at a joke he's not telling. If Will told Jack, well, he doesn't want to think about what Jack might do.

"I will not treat you like one unless you give me no other choice."

Will swallows, and puts his eyes forward, his nostrils flaring as it starts to rain. He can smell it from inside his car, with his own stale sweat, the hay from the barn, and Randall's drying blood.

"Do you really think I won't be dangerous?" he whispers.

"Not that you won't be dangerous," Hannibal replies lightly. "Merely, I believe that you will be more yourself than you think, than you fear. I believe you will recognize me – that the monster in your chest will know my voice, and my touch, and will love me as much as you do."

Will's lips twitch in a smile. If only the world was so simple. His fingers curl around the journal and he looks down at it. He would start reading now, but he doesn't want to risk reading something that upsets him, that will make him anxious again. Not until he's home, in Hannibal's care, where there's a place for him to go if he needs it.

"That's a nice sentiment, Doctor Lecter," he murmurs. "I hope you're right."

"I usually am," Hannibal says lightly, startling a laugh out of Will. He rolls his eyes and settles back in his chair with a sigh. "Now, I don't know about you, but I'm starving. What would you like to eat?"

Will raises an eyebrow, rolling his head to one side to grin at his mate. "Do we have any more of the receptionist?" he asks. "I liked her."

Hannibal smiles, and squeezes his thigh. "I believe we do. Her heart, if memory serves." Will swallows, his stomach clenching up with hunger. He licks his lips, and wants to lick Hannibal's jaw and throat, but holds himself back since Hannibal is still driving.

He hums, and settles his hand over Hannibal's. The rest of the drive is silent, with nothing but the rumble of the engine and the pitter-pat of rain to break the relaxed, contented air.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look at me neglecting my responsibilities :D

Will lies down on the grass in Hannibal's backyard, dozing lazily to the sounds of chirping birds and the soft skittering of squirrels as they explore the outer edges of the yard, crawling along the tops of the fence. The foundation for the kennel has been laid, and tomorrow the walls will go up, and the roof, and Will can move Winston, Buster, and Addy into them.

He has Randall's journal next to him, closed and resting under his hand. He's been reading it on and off all day between naps, too tired to really pay much attention. The fight had worn him out – he'd been unprepared for how physically exhausting it would be.

The journal had told him few things he hadn't known already – each wolf, it seems, went through a similar sickness as he did after getting scratched. A three-day fever, growing new teeth and healing whatever wounds had been dealt at the time of being turned. Some of the wolves were sick for longer, depending on their physical state before being claimed. None of them went to hospitals, obviously, but being a veterinarian, Randall had access to sedatives and antibiotics to help them along with the change. They hadn't lost a single wolf to the illness, which Will also appreciates.

It seems this disease is not one meant to cull the weak. If you're bitten, chances are you survive unless there's something really wrong.

Whether Randall deliberately chose submissive and non-confrontational people or not remains to be seen, but it appears from his journal that most of his pack accepted their new roles readily. Will imagines it would be easier, with such new instincts like the ones he's been experiencing. The desire for closeness, the need to belong, and the bone-deep pleasure of being petted and cared for would have made them easy targets and eager converts.

Will rolls onto his side, his free arm pillowed under his head, and rubs his nose and cheek against his bicep, heaving another sigh. The grass smells clean and vibrant, the sun is warm on his skin, and he's relaxed and thoroughly cleansed from the fight.

He'd gone into Jack's office that morning for the de-briefing. Apparently more than half of the missing persons had already called in to take themselves off the list by the time he got there. Which is promising – Randall is keeping his word. With any luck he'll pack up and move out of state, far away from Will's territory, and this will all be nothing but a distant dream.

He has but one regret: there is nowhere in his journal, or anywhere online, any mention of a cure. He's likely stuck like this.

He tries not to let the thought trouble him. It's like worrying about a storm on the horizon. Will can't stop it, and it will strike, or it won't. He sighs and sniffs, rubbing his nose and jaw as the grass tickles at his chin.

He tilts his head as the porch door slides open, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as shoes meet the patio, then crunch across the grass. He doesn't open his eyes, but lifts his shoulders into Hannibal's hand as his mate approaches, crouches down, and pets a hand through his hair.

"Hello, darling," Hannibal says, voice gentle like he suspects Will might still be asleep despite his receptiveness to touch. Will thinks he might react even in the deepest slumber, such is his mate's pull over him.

He purrs quietly, rolls onto his stomach and fits his arms under him, elbows propping his shoulders up as he arches into Hannibal's hand. It slides down to his nape and Will shivers, going lax. He opens his eyes and stretches, purrs louder when Hannibal's fingers scratch down his spine. "Hey," he replies, sleep-lax and soft.

He turns his head, sees Hannibal's expression fond, his smile warm. Will smiles back and shoves his forehead against Hannibal's knee, seeking more touch.

"How are you feeling?"

"Good," Will whispers, shivers again as Hannibal's touch returns to his neck. It feels so _good_ when Hannibal touches him there, settles something that growls and twists itself in knots in his chest when they're apart. He sighs when Hannibal settles down on the grass fully, pleased that Hannibal is willing to get grass stains on his clothes just so that he can pet Will while he naps. "I needed this."

"Perhaps this new nature of yours will submit itself to self-care," Hannibal says lightly. Teasing. Will rolls his eyes and pushes himself to his hands and knees. Hannibal's dark eyes meet his, and Will grins, twisting around and pushing himself into a crouch like he's ready to lunge.

Hannibal tilts his head to one side, observing a mouse in a maze and wondering which turn it will take. Will bares his teeth, playfully, curling his hands in the grass. "I invited Alana and Margot to dinner tonight," Hannibal says, and Will sits back, on his haunches. "I figured it was overdue, and there are no pressing matters for either of us."

"Really?" Will says, overjoyed at the idea of seeing them. His smile hurts his cheeks, it's so wide.

Hannibal smiles, and nods, and Will can't help himself. He tackles Hannibal to the grass, laughing at Hannibal's breathless huff, and straddles his lap, cupping his face and kissing him deeply around their shared smiles. Hannibal's hands settle wide and warm on his hips, holding him close as he sits back up and Will's chest is stuck in a constant purr. He shoves his forehead against Hannibal's, brushing their noses together, and kisses him again.

"I will have to tell Alana you're this happy to see her," Hannibal says, bright with joy.

Will laughs, cards his hands through Hannibal's soft hair, tucks his nose to his mate's neck. He smells amazing, better than any fresh grass or storm-wet clouds, better than meat, better than blood. Will breathes deep through parted jaws and licks Hannibal's pulse.

" _You_ make me happy," he says, smiling when Hannibal's breath hitches and his hands tighten. "You fill me with joy."

Hannibal sighs, forgoes one hand to wrap around Will's nape, clutches him closer and pulls him into another kiss. Will sighs when it ends, his eyes closing, hands settling on Hannibal's shoulders. He's warm in the sun, his scent and his strength decadent in Will's lungs.

Hannibal hums into another kiss, smiling when Will tries to shove him onto his back. "Will, we should get inside -."

"No," Will replies, harsh, his claws digging into Hannibal's shoulders. He shoves him down and rubs his cheek against Hannibal's collarbone, finds his heartbeat and breathes deeply. "Stay with me."

Hannibal laughs, sets a hand in Will's dirty hair. "Darling -."

"No," Will says again. He settles his full weight on Hannibal's legs, pinning him down, and curls his fingers in his mate's shirt, nuzzling his chest until his nose presses flat. He sighs, and mutters, "I love you so much."

Hannibal abruptly goes still, and Will smiles when he hears his breath catch. He lifts his head, sets his chin on Hannibal's chest to see Hannibal licking his lips, his eyes wide and fixed on Will's. Will knows he's never said as much aloud before, not in so many words – another cruelty he will do his best to soothe.

"I…" Hannibal stops, swallows, and Will's chest expands with rapid heat at rendering Hannibal speechless.

He prowls up his mate's body, nuzzles his neck and kisses his jaw. "I love you," he breathes, and Hannibal's hands shake as they flatten on his hips. "I love you," he whispers again, gasping when Hannibal's hands tighten and Hannibal surges up, catching his mouth for a passionate kiss.

Will purrs, moaning softly as Hannibal drags his nails up Will's flanks, and then suddenly Will is on his back, Hannibal's weight pressing him down into the grass, and he laughs at the dark look in Hannibal's eyes.

"You love me?" Hannibal murmurs. He knows as much, but Will has never said it. He looks ruined from the inside.

"With all my heart," Will replies, eyes half-lidded. Hannibal growls, takes him by the neck and lifts him into another kiss. Will melts against him, one hand behind him to keep him propped up as Hannibal crashes their bodies together. Will thinks, as he breathes deep, that Hannibal's joy has a particular sweetness, separate from his normal scent.

Hannibal's eyes are dark when he pulls back, lips pink from Will's tender mouth. His thumb sits at the hollow of Will's throat, brushing tenderly over the vulnerable hollow there. Will breathes out, trusting and sweet in his mate's arms. "I love you," he says again, adores the way Hannibal's eyes flash and his jaw tightens.

Will smiles, gasping when Hannibal's hand flexes on his throat, and rubs his cheek against Hannibal's, purring at the teasing scratch of day-old stubble as their jaws brush. Hannibal turns his head, bites Will's ear gently, and says; "I have something to show you."

Will shivers, but lets Hannibal pull away. When the touch leaves his neck, he whines, and Hannibal smiles, pushing himself to his feet. He holds out a hand for Will and Will takes it, allowing Hannibal to haul him upright. He gathers the journal and follows his mate inside.

"Did you learn anything of note from it?" Hannibal asks him, absently brushing the grass stains on his ass and elbows. Will huffs, takes his seat at the bar stool, and sets down the journal. He shrugs when Hannibal looks at him.

"Looks like the fever-sickness is commonplace," Will says. Hannibal sets a glass of apple juice and a bowl of grapes in front of him without a word and Will absently starts to eat them, opening the journal past the entries for each new wolf, to generic observations that Randall kept in the back. "No one died from it."

Hannibal huffs. "I'm surprised," he replies. "It was quite sudden, and worrying. Though, I suppose if you knew to expect it, it would be much less traumatic."

"I'll say," Will mutters.

"Anything else?"

Will shrugs again. "Haven't really gotten to the, ah, Full Moon part." He bites his lower lip, fingers resting on the journal pages. He doesn't want to know, but he needs to know. He meets Hannibal's eyes.

Hannibal understands. His expression softens with it. "Do you want me to read it?" he asks.

Will shakes his head. "No." He breathes deep. "I should…I should be the one to read it. Where's my ring?"

"I'll be right back with it," Hannibal says. He kisses the top of Will's head, pets through his hair once. "Keep reading."

Will nods, rubbing at his jaw, and turns the pages to the back of the journal. Randall wrote new recruits in the front, observations starting in the back so that, eventually, they would meet in the middle. He wonders how big he intended his pack to grow.

"There are three days of note – the day before the moon, during, and after. In the hours leading up to the moon before it is full, increased energy and appetite are expected. The Full Moon takes a lot of calories, the shift burns excess fats and energy stores. It is good that a wolf, especially for the first shift, overindulges to the point of sickness before they change."

Will huffs, and looks up when Hannibal returns to the room. He has Will's plastic ring in hand, and another box. He sets the box down and Will takes his ring, fitting it between his jaws so he can chew on it as he reads.

But he's still holding the box. Will looks at it, sniffing curiously. It smells of cardboard and plastic, and he cocks his head to one side.

Hannibal smiles, and sets the box down in front of him. Will slides the journal to one side and puts his ring down, reaches for it. He stops, fingers curling.

"This came this morning, while you were with Jack," Hannibal murmurs. He opens the box slowly, like unwrapping the greatest treasure in the world, and Will's breath catches when he pulls out what's inside.

It's a muzzle. A clear plastic, jutting out to accommodate the nose of a dog, with holes in the side to breathe through. Black, soft leather wraps around the edges of it, and the straps are the same black leather and they look soft as butter in Hannibal's hands. There's a strap to go around the ears – above when human, behind when an animal – and one that sits lower, to wrap around the top of Will's neck.

Will sucks in a breath, his fingers curling tight enough to whiten his knuckles.

Hannibal isn't smiling, but he seems pleased by Will's reaction. "I modeled the canine dimensions off of Winston," he says, "but the straps have room to expand as needed, as well as tighten when you're human."

"Hannibal," Will breathes, weak. _Wanting_. He wants to touch it. He feels like some part of him should rebel against the idea of being muzzled in such a way, but the piece looks so lovely in Hannibal's large hands.

Hannibal does smile, then. "Would you like to try it on?"

Will whimpers, nodding. He swallows as Hannibal peels off the plastic covering around the buckle at the back of the muzzle, and he steps behind Will. One hand flattens on Will's shoulder, spreads out wide, and slides to the front of his neck. Will tilts his chin up obediently, his chest hot. His heart is flying, blood rushing in his ears, heating his cheeks.

Hannibal leans in so his mouth is against Will's ear. His fingertips and thumb press under Will's jaw, touch the soft flesh there. "You should be able to speak when you're human," he tells Will. Will trembles at how low his voice has gotten – he remembers Hannibal mentioning, off-handedly, that he likes the idea of restraining Will in such a way.

He breathes in deep, flattens his hands on the counter, and bites his lower lip. "Please," he whispers.

Hannibal nods, kisses his blood-red cheek, and lets go of his neck. He has his hand flat around the mouthpiece and he fits it over Will's jaw. The edges are padded, just enough that Will doesn't feel the dig of the plastic edge, and it goes over his nose and settles on the ridge of his cheekbones. Hannibal tugs at the loose straps so that the lower ones cradle his neck, and the one that sits around his head is already fastened, and he pulls it over Will's forehead, settles it at the widest curve of his skull.

He lets go, and tugs the straps that sit around Will's neck. They cradle his skull gently, the leather so soft it almost doesn't feel like it's there. Will's hands shake as he gently touches the breathing holes on either side of the muzzle, and sucks in a breath through his nose. It smells of plastic on the inside, not unpleasant but neutral.

Hannibal secures the straps with a final tug and Will whimpers, one hand flying to his thigh and nails digging in. The sudden, hot spike of arousal is unexpected, and yet wholly expected at the same time. Hannibal's nails drag under the straps, across his neck, and Will bows his head forward to expose his nape and whimpers when Hannibal kisses him there.

"How does it feel?"

Will can't answer. He whines.

"Do you like it?" he asks, growling low.

Will nods. Vehemently. It doesn't feel like restraint – more like a promise. He can be as wild as he wants, and he won't hurt Hannibal if he decides to bite. He bares his teeth, tests the movement of his jaw and finds that he can part his mouth just a little, enough to speak, but not much else.

Hannibal's hand flattens on his neck, tilts his head up and Will sags against his touch, aching for more pressure at his throat. "Talk to me, Will," he demands.

Will flinches, the hand on his thigh sliding to his cock, which is aching and hard in his jeans. He presses his heel down and moans, the plastic fogging up around his cheeks. "I like it," he growls, eyelids fluttering when Hannibal pets his hair in reward. " _Fuck_ , I like it a lot."

Then; "Take it off. Please."

Hannibal obeys immediately, carefully loosening the straps, but not undoing them, and he eases them over Will's head and catches the muzzle, setting it down on the counter by Randall's journal.

Will surges to his feet, turns and lunges at Hannibal, slamming him against the cabinets behind him. Hannibal's eyes widen, just briefly, and Will growls, shoving his face against Hannibal's neck and grabbing him by the hips, eager to plaster himself chest to knee against his mate. The claw marks Randall put in his chest sting terribly, and his throat is on fire. He wants to _bite_.

He ruts against Hannibal forcefully, whining when Hannibal wraps his hands around Will's ribs, holding him tight. Hannibal shoves him back, turns Will and pins him against the cabinets, his thigh sliding between Will's legs to give him something to mount.

Will can't help making the ridiculous comparison of a dog humping its master's leg. He huffs a laugh, forehead tight on Hannibal's shoulder as Hannibal kisses his neck, wraps a hand in Will's hair and tugs.

He lets out a rough sound, Hannibal's name and 'Alpha' and 'Please' all mixed into one as Hannibal's jaws part on his neck, teeth sinking in to suck another tender bruise to Will's throat. Will can't move his hands, can't part his teeth enough to ask Hannibal to take him upstairs – or, better yet, mount him right here. He's desperate and needy and he can't stop rutting frantically against Hannibal's thigh.

Then, Hannibal releases his neck, licks up to his ear, and says; "I'll have a collar made, too."

Will's orgasm blind-sides him and he howls, hands flying to Hannibal's shoulders as his knees buckle and he sags against his mate. Hannibal catches him, straightens up, always steady and strong. Will's vision goes white behind his eyelids and he's sweaty and trembling, heartbeat flying down the cliffside, blood rushing in his ears.

He moans, returning to himself slowly, the way snow thaws in the beginning of spring. Hannibal is still petting through his hair, gentle hums and sighs filling his head as Will finds the strength back in his knees, locks them and leans back against the cabinets.

He blinks at the ceiling, lips parted as he tries to catch his breath. Then, he meets Hannibal's eyes, and flushes, but knows better than to call it shame.

"I, uh." He clears his throat. Doesn't know what to say.

Hannibal smiles, cups his jaw, and kisses him. "I'm glad you like it," he purrs.

Will swallows. He wants Hannibal to touch his neck. Almost as if reading his mind, though Will doubts it ever would take much persuasion for him to do so, Hannibal's fingers run down the tendon in his neck, flatten on the bruises from his mouth, cup his throat gently. Will stomach clenches and he swallows, feeling wet heat rapidly cooling in his underwear.

He touches Hannibal's chest, slides his hand down and curls his fingers around the outline of Hannibal's cock in his suit pants. Hannibal's jaw clenches, and he sighs through his nose, drawing Will into another deep, long kiss that robs Will of whatever air he'd regained.

"Alpha," Will breathes. He desperately wants to bare his throat and spread his legs for his mate, wants to fall to his hands and knees and let Hannibal mount him until they're both sated.

Hannibal growls, eyes flashing, dark. He takes Will's wrist and pulls his hand away. "As much as I would love to reward you for such good behavior, darling, I'm afraid we have dinner guests to accommodate, and I have a meal to prepare."

Will swallows, whining. "I'll be good," he says, desperate, brazen. "I can make it quick. I promise."

Hannibal visibly shivers, and lifts Will's knuckles to his mouth to kiss. Will bites his lower lip and Hannibal smiles. "Later," he says, soft with promise. Will whimpers, and Hannibal's smile widens. "Darling, I swear, nothing would please me more, but there's work to be done."

A thought passes, errant and bright as a shooting star, that Hannibal wouldn't be able to resist him if they were both wolves. He'd need it just as badly, chase Will and mount him until neither of them could walk.

He shivers and nods, stepping away when Hannibal releases him, and tamps down that thought with all of his might. Hannibal couldn't possibly want that – one of them needs to be in control.

Hannibal smiles, like he knows what Will is thinking nonetheless. "Go get cleaned up, darling," he says gently. "I'll need your help preparing dinner."

Will nods. Goals and tasks are good. He likes those. "When will they be here?" he asks.

"Within the hour." Will nods again, accepting that, realistically, they really didn't have time to do anything more. Hannibal's eyes rake over his face, his exposed neck, the strung-out sag of his body, and he swallows, fingers curling.

"You are…beautiful," he breathes, and Will blushes, ducking his head. He shifts his weight and reaches for Hannibal, sighing when Hannibal allows him close so that Will can nuzzle his exposed neck. Hannibal smiles, kissing his cheek. "Go on, darling. Shower and get dressed."

Will nods, pulling back from his mate with Herculean effort. His eyes dart to the counter, and after a moment he takes the box, fingers trembling as he touches it, and sets the muzzle and ring inside, folds it closed and piles Randall's journal on top of it, to take upstairs.

"I'll be back soon," he says, and Hannibal nods, smiling at him. They don't approach each other. Will knows his self-control only extends so far. He leaves the kitchen and heads upstairs, leaves the box and journal on Hannibal's table in his room, and heads into the bathroom.

When he's done showering, he goes back downstairs and smiles, breathing deep the scent of roasting meat and rich red wine. Hannibal kisses his forehead when Will nuzzles his shoulder.

The doorbells rings. Will's fingers curl. "Someone's here."

Hannibal huffs, smiling indulgently. "Probably Alana," he says.

"Alana." Will's chest explodes with joy. "I'll get it."

He rushes to the door and throws it open, grinning when he sees Alana and Margot there, blinking rapidly at him like a flare just went off in front of their eyes. "Hi!" Will says, sure that if he had a tail it would be wagging wildly. He tugs Alana inside and pulls her into a tight hug, breathing in her perfume.

She hugs him back, warm and sweet in his arms and Will doesn't want to let her go. He wants to rub his face all over her so that she smells like part of his pack.

He resists. Barely.

Hannibal appears in the doorway to the kitchen when Will releases Alana and sets his sights on Margot. She holds her arms out for him and he grins at her, throwing himself into an equally tight hug. She smells just as amazing, like spring rain and mountain lakes. He hasn't known Margot nearly as long, but he loves her because Alana loves her and whenever she's with her wife, she smells so Goddamn happy.

"Glad we're finally doing this," Alana says, shrugging off her coat. Will takes it from her, and Margot's, hanging them both up.

Hannibal gestures for them to come into the kitchen and Will takes up the rear, making sure the door is locked and the house is secure as he rounds up his pack and corrals them into a safe place. His chest is warm, and he feels light, like he's walking through sun-drenched clouds.

"We should make it a tradition," Will says, handing them each a glass of wine. "Every Friday. I insist."

Margot smiles. "Do fevers make people more sociable?" she says, teasing. She has, after all, known Will long enough to note his behavior before.

Will laughs. His favorite people are all in the same room and he might be sick with joy.

Alana rolls her eyes and nudges her wife good-naturedly. "Jack told me you solved the missing persons case," she says, sitting at one of the bar stools. Margot sits next to her, and Will takes his place at Hannibal's side.

"Yeah. Bunch of people living in a compound upstate. Who would've guessed."

"Willingly?" Margot asks, frowning in surprise.

Will shrugs one shoulder. "Seems like."

"How strange," Margot says. She sips the wine and gives a soft hum of appreciation. "This is delicious! What is that aftertaste?"

"Blackberries," Will and Hannibal say at the same time. Truthfully, before his change, Will could hardly tell the difference between red and white, but now his sense of smell and taste are much sharper. Will blinks at his mate, but Hannibal's eyes are not on him. Hannibal tilts his head to one side. "You have a refined palette, Margot."

Margot smiles. "Since I was a child," she replies coolly.

Will tilts his head to one side. Margot's eyes shine in the light, and he looks down at his hands, fingers curling.

"I can't imagine all those people just willingly giving up everything to live together on a compound," Alana says, drawing his attention. She gives a shake of her head, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

Margot smiles, and settles a hand on Alana's. "Pack mentality is a hard thing to overcome, once it sets in," she says.

Alana nods, and Will's eyes widen. He almost drops his wine glass, and sets it down deliberately.

It's just coincidence, he tells himself. Word choice.

Alana looks out to the porch. "Kennel almost done?" she asks.

Will nods. "Should be done by end of tomorrow," he replies. "Room for four dogs in it."

"Only four?" Alana repeats, sounding dismayed.

Will nods. "I'm sure the other five will go to good homes."

Margot frowns. "…My math must be off. That means there's one space going unused."

Will bites his lower lip, shrugs one shoulder. "You never know," he replies, takes his wine glass again and lifts it to his lips.

Margot and Alana share a look, and Margot sighs, sits forward, and laces her fingers together, her chin on the backs of them. She's watching Will very closely, it seems, and Will swallows. He has the sudden urge to show his neck. He doesn't dare break her gaze.

Then, she smiles. It's slow, and wide, and shows her teeth. Sharp teeth.

"So, Will," she says coolly. Her scent is thickening with something like anticipation, the same way Will imagines dogs do when they see another potential friend to play with. "How long have you been a werewolf?"

Will chokes on his wine, his eyes wide. Hannibal looks similarly startled, and his eyes flash to Alana – Alana, who doesn't look nearly as shocked by the question as Will would have predicted.

"I -." Will starts, stops, swallows past the lump in his throat. He meets Margot's eyes, and she winks at him. "Since the last moon."

Margot hums, and looks to Alana. "You were right."

Will sets his glass down, puts both hands on the counter. "What?" he demands.

Alana flushes, looking somewhat sheepish, and shrugs. "When you started acting differently, it reminded me a lot of Margot," she says. "And then you got sick, and I asked her about it. Apparently, it's pretty common."

"Um, yeah," Will says. Then; "Wait, you're _married_ to a _werewolf_?"

He looks at Hannibal. Hannibal is smiling, his surprise turning to something akin to amusement. Will doesn't know what the Hell he's supposed to say.

Margot laughs, sitting back, and claps her hands together in delight.

"How long have you…?" Will swallows, his fingers curling.

"I was born like this," Margot replies. "My whole family are wolves. Why do you think we went into the meat packing business?"

Will's head is reeling. He wonders if the room is going to stop spinning any time soon. He looks to Alana again. "How long have you known?" he asks.

"Margot told me the night after the first moon, when we were dating," Alana replies. "I didn't know what to say, of course, but she showed me a video of her brother changing shape, and then the next moon, I witnessed it. It was…" She trails off, eyes wide with wonder – no fear, Will is relieved to see – and looks to Margot, smiling. "It was amazing."

"It feels wonderful, Will," Margot says kindly. "The first time you really _run_ , ah." Her eyes close and she breathes out, slowly, and gives a hum of pleasure. "There's nothing like it."

Will has absolutely no idea what to say to that. A thousand questions are jostling for position in his head, like his dogs at feeding time. "I can't believe it," he breathes, weakly. But in the aftermath of his shock, hope springs. Margot has been married to Alana for a long time, and Alana is still human. Which means Margot doesn't hurt her, doesn't go savage.

It means Will might not, as well.

"I have so many questions," he says.

Margot smiles. "Ask."

"I don't even know where to start."

Just then, the oven dings. Will jumps at the sound of it and Margot perks up in her seat, her nostrils flaring at the scent of meat.

 _Meat_.

Will freezes, abruptly. If Margot can smell like he can, she might know that Hannibal's meat isn't anything you get out of the deli aisle. She might _know things_.

But Hannibal is smiling. "I should thank you again for the kind donation of this pig," he tells her, opening the oven and Will breathes in deep. It is pork. Actual pork. Of course, Hannibal hasn't had time to go hunting recently. He sighs in relief – that, at least, is a question he won't have to worry about tonight.

"The pleasure's all mine," Margot purrs, standing. "Especially since we're all such good friends."

Will smiles at her, and she answers in kind.

Hannibal draws their attention with another soft sound. "Why don't you all go into the dining room. I shall bring the food out shortly." He looks at Will. "Try and contain your curiosity until I arrive. There are things we both should learn."

"Of course," Will says, nodding. Alana smiles, and takes his arm, leading him into the dining room.

"This is going to be a fun evening," Margot says, taking a seat opposite Will. There's a place next to her, which Alana takes, where she will be across from Hannibal. Two wolves and their mates – Will never imagined he would end up here. He's delighted, of course, and relieved beyond measure, but he would have never seen this coming in a million years.

"I hope you didn't have any plans early tomorrow," Will says. "I have so many questions – you might be here all night."

Margot grins at him, and Alana laughs. "Well, it's the least we can do," she says, and raises her glass in a toast. "Here's to all of us, and having way more in common than we ever thought possible."

Will laughs, and clinks his glass against hers. They fall into an amicable silence, waiting for Hannibal to bring in the food, and for the next conversation to start, wherein Will hopes all his questions, and all of Hannibal's, will be answered, and all their fears put to rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy plot twist batman, amirite? :D


	14. Chapter 14

They eat in silence for a while, quietly enjoying the delicious pork roast Hannibal prepared. Under the table, Will's leg is jogging up and down, unable to remain still. He's so excited, so curious and burning with questions – he feels like he should have written them all down, so that he can go through them one by one. At this rate, he's sure he'll be interrogating Margot and Alana all night if they let him.

Margot smiles at him, sly and knowing, like she understands perfectly. Will clears his throat and takes a sip of wine. "How many of us are there?" he asks her, for that seems like a good first question.

She shrugs one shoulder and hums around her bite of pork. "Well, it's not like there's a census we can take. But I've met a few packs in my lifetime, and a few families."

"What's the difference?" Will asks, tilting his head to one side.

She smiles. "A family is like mine," she says. "We're born into it, and typically take mates within the community as well, so the bloodline remains pure. Packs are self-made, usually people who are turned and not born."

Will nods, thinking of Randall's pack.

"And honestly, aside from the full moon, there's no _real_ way to tell who's a wolf and who isn't. It's not something as obvious as skin or hair color or anything like that."

Will nods. "Yeah," he says, turning his attention back to his food. "You don't smell any different."

She huffs a laugh. "You do," she says with a wink, and Will blushes for a reason he doesn't quite understand. "It's subtle, but it's there. Alphas have a particular scent."

Will frowns, tilting his head to one side. She's the second wolf to have called him as such. His eyes dart to Hannibal, who appears to be in silent contemplation, staring absently at his wine, before he takes a sip.

He remembers what Molly told him, about the existence of an Alpha male and female, about how wolves can't resist the call of one when they belong to that pack. Will had inferred that he didn't follow her because he was too ardently tied to Hannibal.

He clears his throat. "The missing persons case I solved – they were all people being turned, kept in that compound under a pack Alpha," he says, and Margot nods. "I fought him."

She blinks at him, frowning. "And you won," she says. It's not a question.

Will nods. "Hannibal said my eyes changed color during the fight," he replies. "Do you know what that's about?"

Margot hums, taking another bite of pork. "I've seen my brother and father's eyes turn red before, when they were in the middle of a fight. I think it's just a natural reaction to testosterone, or something."

Will nods, glad to hear that. He looks to Hannibal again, sees his eyes are on Alana. Hannibal smiles. "Are there any specific conditions I should be aware of?" he asks around a sip of wine. "Behavioral changes we should anticipate beyond what's already occurred?"

Alana nods. "Around the full moon, the day before and during, Margot gets very energetic." Will nods, absently, remembering reading as much in Randall's journal. "And the day after, well…"

She stops, and her cheeks color, darkening to the same pink innards of a medium rare steak. Will cocks his head to one side and watches how she meets Margot's eyes, her smile small and somewhat coy.

"The day after?" he repeats.

Margot smiles, clearing her throat. "Let's just say we don't leave our bed."

Will blinks, blushing abruptly as well. He bites his lower lip and looks over at Hannibal, finds him smiling, his eyes dark. Hannibal's gaze flashes to him and Will squirms in his seat, his eyes falling to Hannibal's hands.

"Interesting," he murmurs.

Will breathes out shakily, and looks at Margot. "Isn't it tiring?" he asks. "The change?"

"Oh, absolutely," Margot says with a nod. "I'm pretty much a limp noodle afterwards. But that doesn't stop me wanting it."

Will shivers, imagining Hannibal merely pushing him this way and that, out of his mind with bliss and desperate for his mate to mount him. His thighs tighten, press together, at the surge of heat that starts in his chest and lazily claws its way downward.

"It might be different for a male wolf," Margot says with a shrug, like she's taking Will's reaction for discomfort. Perhaps she assumes that Will is the dominant wolf between him and Hannibal, and that he'll want to mount his mate but be unable to get the energy to do so.

"I'm sure I'll be able to keep Will satisfied," Hannibal murmurs in reply. Will's fingers curl and his breathing remains unsteady.

He clears his throat and wets his lips, shivering again when Hannibal smiles at him. Alana is smiling too, understanding making the corners of her mouth sharp.

"What's it like, being a wolf?" Will asks, because he needs to change the subject before the heat in his stomach burns any hotter. He looks at Margot. "Are you…aware?"

"Of course," Margot replies. She frowns. "Is that something you were worried about?"

Will nods. "I'm afraid I'll…hurt someone," he confesses, eyes slanting Hannibal's way.

She laughs, though it's gentle and understanding. "Will, you're no more likely to hurt someone when a wolf, than you are as a man." Which isn't exactly promising, but Will knows what she's trying to say. "It's not like you're feral."

Will swallows.

"If you're that worried about it, though, you can certainly come to the estate for the first shift. We could run together."

Will's eyes widen, suddenly giddy over the idea. He smiles, widely. "I'd like that," he says, sitting up straighter in his seat, and grinning when Margot smiles back, showing her teeth. "That would…really be awesome. Thank you."

"Of course!" she replies, delighted. Will is reminded of how his dogs act when playing together, and can't help picture in his head what he and Margot will do, rolling around in the grass, chasing each other's tails, barreling over the fields of the Verger estate.

"It's a date," Hannibal says mildly, smiling as well. More reserved than Will or Margot, and Will grins at him, and reaches out to rest a hand over Hannibal's, fingers curling tightly across his knuckles. Hannibal's smile softens with affection and he takes his hand from Will's, reaching out to pet his hair back from his face in a gentle touch.

He purrs before he can stop himself, and blushes and bites his lip when he remembers that they're not alone.

Alana huffs. "Will, don't be embarrassed," she says with a roll of her eyes. "You're sitting in a room with probably the only other people you know who completely understand."

"I know that," Will says, clearing his throat. He buys himself time by taking another bite of pork. "It's just…a lot."

"Well, I mean, I was born like this, so I can't say I understand _exactly_ what you're going through," Margot concedes with a nod, "but I promise, it's nothing to be afraid of. Being a wolf isn't all dark and gloomy like people make it out to be."

Will winces, remembering Hannibal's research.

"I feel I would be remiss if I didn't ask," Hannibal begins. "How exactly is the change spread? You and Alana have been together for many moons, and yet she remains human."

Alana smiles. "Only bites and scratches during the full moon count," she replies. "It's the wolf that facilitates the change, not the person. So, if Will is human, he's safe."

Will blinks, his eyes widening. His jaw clenches, thinking of how badly he'd wanted to bite Hannibal, to claw at him, how much it had hurt and how afraid he'd been of changing his mate by accident, during a fight or during sex. "…Really?" he breathes. He remembers Randall threatening to turn Hannibal at his compound, and wants to laugh, realizing now it might have just been an empty threat.

Margot nods. "I bit Alana once, during sex," she replies with a shrug. "And I can scratch her occasionally, on accident. As long as I'm not a wolf when I do it, she's fine."

Will isn't sure how to express his relief. His shoulders sag and a whine gets stuck in his throat. He feels Hannibal's touch on his thigh, a gentle squeeze, and when he meets his mate's gaze, he finds Hannibal smiling.

"That's a relief to hear," he says, and Will nods dumbly like a child being told to say 'Hello' to a distant relation.

"Yes," he adds, breathes the word with no volume. He swallows and finishes his wine.

Hannibal stands. "Alana, perhaps you might help me in fetching more refreshments?" he asks, holding a hand out to her. Will blinks, frowning, but Alana must see something he can't, because she grins and takes his hand, allowing him to pull her to her feet, and they both leave the room and head towards the kitchen.

Will huffs, meets Margot's eyes and sees a similar look there. She's smiling. "I suppose Alana hasn't been able to talk to a wolf mate before."

She shrugs one shoulder. "It can be lonely," she replies mildly. "But I believe Doctor Lecter sees an opportunity to learn."

"Learn?" Will repeats, frowning.

Margot's smile widens, indulgently. "Will, you're a wolf now," she says. "That means certain things are going to be different."

"Yeah, I'm learning that the hard way," Will says.

Margot sighs, and takes another bite of pork. "You know what I mean."

"I don't think I do."

She rolls her eyes. "Will, I know you're new to all of this, but you didn't even know about the post-moon heat," she says. Will winces, swallowing harshly. " _And_ you didn't know that you could safely bite him, which tells me you're definitely stifling some pretty strong urges. You're going to need Hannibal to do certain things for you, otherwise you'll go crazy, and frankly you're going to get there anyway if you don't learn to articulate and communicate with him."

Will growls. She sounds a lot like Hannibal right now. Why does everyone seem to assume that Will can't communicate? It's not his fault Hannibal is the first one to understand him, like two people with a language only they know. "Enlighten me, then," he challenges.

Her eyes flash, and she cocks her head to one side, and leans her elbows on the table. "Will," she says gently, her eyes wide and concerned. "You were going to lock yourself up in that kennel, weren't you? That's why you're keeping a space free."

Will swallows, debates denying it, but that would be useless at this point. He nods, tightly.

She smiles, like Will has figured out the first clue to a long riddle. "Why not just stay at your place? It'd be far removed, arguably safer."

Will's fingers curl and his chest gets tight at the idea of staying away from Hannibal for that long. Even as he thinks it, he remembers that his mate isn't in the room with him, and it takes all of his willpower not to launch himself to his feet and give chase.

"I don't want to be away from him," he breathes. "Ever."

"The wolves in us heighten instincts already present," Margot says with a nod. "Which means our needs _must_ be satisfied, otherwise we go feral. A wolf doesn't care for things like social propriety that humans conform to. You want to be with your mate? You will not be deterred. You want to bite him? How does it feel when you deny yourself that?"

"Like…my teeth itch," Will confesses. "Like I'm being split in two directions."

"And you haven't even experienced a moon yet," Margot finishes. "Just as you have to start accepting your nature, so Hannibal is duty-bound to anticipate and accommodate it, as your mate."

Will winces. "You make it sound like obligation."

Margot sighs, sitting back and turning his attention to her food once again. "Unfortunately, that," she says, punctuating her words with a stab of her fork, "isn't something I can help you with. Only, I ask, do you think your dogs are guilty over your obligation to care for them?"

"That's not the same."

She shrugs, but doesn't answer. At that moment, Alana and Hannibal return to the room, a new decanter of red wine in Alana's hands. Her face and neck are flushed and Will frowns, lifting his chin when Hannibal takes it from her and fills Will's glass, before he reclaims his seat at Will's side.

Hannibal smiles at him and Will leans over, puts his nose to Hannibal's shoulder and breathes in deeply. He doesn't smell any of Alana's perfume, and wonders what they might have been talking about to put her in such a state.

Hannibal lifts one hand, gently scratching his nails over Will's neck, and Will shivers, closing his eyes. He resists the urge to slide closer to his mate, to nuzzle Hannibal's neck and lick over his mouth. He pulls away with Herculean effort and goes back to eating.

"How long does one remain a wolf for, during the full moon?" Hannibal asks after a few moments of companionable silence.

"Only a few hours," Margot replies. "And it'll change in the seasons. Sunlight stops the moon reaching us, so in the winter, the shift will be for longer. My last one was about six hours."

Alana nods in agreement. "I think the longest one was…what, almost fourteen?" she asks, looking to Margot to confirmation. "And the longer it lasts, the more exhausted they'll be after the fact."

"I imagine losing that much sleep can be damaging," Hannibal says mildly. "I hope not to cause offense, for I am merely curious – have you experimented with any sedatives, or restraints?"

Margot frowns at him, then looks at Will. Will keeps his head lowered, and touches his cheeks where he remembers the muzzle digging in. He still wants to wear it, still loves the feeling of Hannibal's hands in his hair, tightening the straps. Wants to know how it feels to shift inside it, to become an animal and know that he cannot hurt his mate no matter how much he wants to.

Margot, finally, shakes her head. "My brother had to be sedated, once," she replies, overly-calm. "He'd had surgery and his leg was damaged, so he couldn't run. I -." She shivers. "It was awful. He was awake during the moon, and I felt like he was trying to move, but he couldn't. It was like watching someone with a gun to their head."

Will swallows.

Hannibal hums, taking a sip of wine. "And what would happen if, for instance, I was not present during the time of the full moon?"

Margot's frown deepens.

"Will may be called away on cases," Hannibal explains mildly. "How would he fare, say, during this day after you mentioned?"

Will stifles a low growl. "No," he says sharply, before either of the women can answer. He sets his knife and fork down, kneading his thighs anxiously. His chest burns around Randall's claw marks and his upper lip curls back. "I'm not doing that."

Alana frowns. "Will," she begins.

"No!" Will stands, abruptly. It feels like he can't breathe. He shakes his head and runs his fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry," he says, when he sees Alana and Margot blinking at him, wide-eyed. Hannibal, to his credit, doesn't look startled – he never is by Will's outbursts – but he does look concerned. "I'm sorry. I need some air."

He flees the room before anyone can speak, out through the kitchen, through the porch doors, and towards the flat concrete foundation where the kennel will be built. He plops himself down on it, cross-legged at first, and then rolls onto his back, staring up at the sky.

He runs his hands over his face, heaving a frustrated growl. It feels like one step forward, two steps back, chasing his own Goddamn tail. With one hand, he's offered agency, control, promised that he'll be aware as a wolf, that he can bite and scratch Hannibal except that one night, and that he'll be okay, he'll make it through this – but with the other…

Well, with the other, all the terrible anxiety rears its ugly head in his chest again. He can't have Hannibal at his beck and call whenever a mood strikes him. This is one of the things he'd been afraid of, but somehow, it's managed to appear totally in the reverse. He'd been afraid of his dependence on Hannibal, his love for the man overshadowing all else, but now, what? Hannibal will have to take _care_ of him, like some invalid cousin or wounded dog.

He's not a Goddamn house pet.

He closes his eyes, bares his teeth, and curls his fingers behind his head, elbows pointed up to shield his peripheral vision. The concrete is cold against his back, aches the tender wounds where Randall clawed at him, but he doesn't want to move. He likes it out here – the air is warm and still, muggy with the promise of a storm approaching.

The porch door opens after a moment, and Will sighs, letting his arms drop. He expects Hannibal, or maybe even Margot, to join him. When he opens his eyes, though, he's surprised to see all three of them standing next to him.

He sits up, sighing. "Sorry," he says again, rubbing his hands over his jaw.

Hannibal lets out a soft noise, his knee touching Will's shoulder, and Will leans against him, closing his eyes when Hannibal's hand drops to his hair, teasing at the curls. It's a pleasant touch. Then, he hears movement, and Margot perches next to him, settling on her knees despite the fact that it means her bare knees touch the concrete, and it can't be comfortable. Her heels sit at the corner of the foundation, so her feet are bare.

Then, she grins at him, and tackles him. Will huffs, catching her instinctively, and she lets out a soft purr and bites at his ear and Will yelps, shaking his head, and turns to try and escape her. She laughs, and he hears Alana laughing as well, and Margot wins when she manages to wrangle Will onto his hands and knees and dumps her slim body over his shoulders like a younger sibling playing ragdoll.

Will goes still, not wanting to dislodge her and hurt her, and she grins, digging her knuckles into his sides, and bites him again, pulling his hair between her lips this time. Will shakes his head, swatting at her, and pushes himself to his feet.

She grins at him, and he rolls his eyes. "Alright," he says, and holds his hand out to her, helping her up. "You made your point."

"We're a pack now, Will," Alana says warmly. Will flushes, a shiver of pleasure running down his spine at the statement. "That means we take care of each other, and don't let one another run off and sulk on their own."

"I was not _sulking_."

Hannibal clears his throat, his expression soft with amusement, and he smiles fondly at Will. "I'm afraid, my dear, that you were, in fact, sulking."

Will rolls his eyes, but goes when Hannibal holds his hand out. He puts his cheek into Hannibal's palm and sighs, letting Hannibal pull him close so Will's nose is at his neck. When he turns his head, he sees Margot and Alana in a similar embrace, Margot purring and nuzzling gently at Alana's hair.

"I think we should call it a night," Alana says mildly.

"I agree," Hannibal replies. He lets Will go and Will whines, somewhat validated when Margot lets out a similar noise. They go to the door, and Will hands the women their coats back, and Alana smiles and hugs him tightly. Margot follows suit, nipping at Will's jaw and Will doesn't fight the urge to do it back. He bites her ponytail and she growls at him, playfully.

"We'll see you in a few days," Alana says, and they leave. Will presses his lips together, remembering – the full moon is soon. He feels it like static in the air.

Hannibal embraces Will from behind, his arms settling heavily around Will's chest. Will sighs. "I want you to promise me something," he says, turning his head so he can kiss Hannibal's cheek.

"What is that, darling?"

"Promise me you won't ever let this grow into resentment." Hannibal blinks, frowning, and pulls back, turning Will so their eyes can meet. Will bites his lower lip, wants to drop his gaze but forces himself to hold it. This is important. "If it ever gets too much, for either of us, we'll talk about it. And if we can't talk, we'll…" He stops. He can't bring himself to say it. "Just promise me you won't stay, you won't force yourself to take care of me."

Hannibal sighs. "I promise," he replies, and Will is glad he didn't try to argue, didn't try and say that they will never change, that his love will never fade. Even if it's true, Will doesn't want meaningless platitudes and kind, pretty words. He wants the truth, and all its consequences.

Will smiles. "Thank you."

Hannibal nods, and he cups Will's face, pulling him in for a chaste kiss. "I love you very much, Will," he says. Will's chest goes tight, his heart stutters within it. He whines.

"I love you, too," he replies, pleased when Hannibal's exhale gets shaky at the end. He smiles again and nuzzles Hannibal's collarbone. "What did you and Alana talk about, when you were getting the wine?"

Hannibal huffs a laugh, one hand curling in Will's hair, the other settling wide and warm on Will's hip. "I gained some remarkable insight," he says mildly, and Will stifles his annoyed growl at being made to wait.

"Insight to _what_?" he demands when Hannibal doesn't continue.

In answer, Hannibal abruptly turns him, pressing him firmly against the wall. Will gasps, and trembles when Hannibal's hand moves from his hip and flattens on his neck, forcing his head up so he can meet Hannibal's eyes. He whines when Hannibal leans in and presses their foreheads together, instinctively seeking a kiss that Hannibal doesn't grant him.

"How to please you," Hannibal says, after what feels like the longest moment of Will's life. He swallows, and Hannibal smiles, shows his teeth, and digs his nails into either side of Will's throat. Tight enough to threaten, not to hurt. "How to keep you satisfied."

"You already do that," Will replies, voice weak. He's lightheaded with how suddenly and fiercely desire hits him – a head-on collision instead of a steady downpour.

He receives a soft growl in answer, and shivers, licking his lips. "So," Hannibal says, slowly, his voice low, "you're not interested in a demonstration? In the name of science, I feel like we must experiment with this new information, to prove or disprove it."

Hannibal's thumb drags up Will's neck, lines up with his jaw, drags heavy and slow towards his chin and forces his head up further. The rest of Hannibal's nails follow and Will whimpers, his breathing heavy, heart pounding.

"No, you're right," he manages. He doesn't know what to do with his hands – he curls them in his own shirt, tugging on it in front of his stomach like he needs the air under his clothes. He feels like he's burning alive, lit up from Hannibal's touch, and such a simple one at that. "We -. Hannibal, _please_."

Hannibal smiles, and leans in for another kiss that makes Will's shoulders tense and his stomach sink low.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well I didn't expect most of this chapter to be smut but y'all thirsty and frankly so am I.

Hannibal takes him upstairs and closes the door behind them. He turns Will and presses him flat against the back of the door, firm enough that Will's shoulder blades sit awkwardly against the wood. He tilts his head back, meeting Hannibal's eyes, a fine tremor running down his spine at the heat he sees there. His chest is warm, blood rushing in his ears. He has no idea what to expect, but he knows it'll be good because it's always good with Hannibal.

Hannibal watches him for a moment, his hands flat and wide on Will's hips, considering. Will can practically see the wheels turning in Hannibal's head, the calculated gaze he uses when marking his prey. He imagines Hannibal tearing at him, clawing with utmost care until Will is broken into as many pieces as his mate sees fit. His neck feels too hot, craves the soothing touch of Hannibal's teeth. His stomach is tense, his hands ache to wrap in Hannibal's hair and pull. His jaw hurts.

Hannibal smiles, and lifts his chin, and Will feels his whole body jump in readiness. He stands up straighter and parts his lips and Hannibal's smile widens, he moves one hand from Will's side to his neck. Will's skin flushes immediately, blood and heart eager to leap into Hannibal's hands. Hannibal's nails drag across the shadow of stubble on Will's jaw, thumb pressing gently to the soft hollow just past the bone, and Will whines, licks his lips, and leans his head against the door in obedience to the silent command.

Hannibal leans in, until their noses brush and Will can touch Hannibal's lips with his tongue when he licks his own. His fingers curl in his own shirt, knowing without being told that he mustn't touch, he has to be still, and be good. Hannibal is staring him down like a hunting cat, getting ready to lunge, and Will is weak under the heat of his gaze.

Then, Hannibal smiles, and curls his thumb around the other side of Will's throat, and takes a step back, gently tugging Will to follow like there's a collar around his neck. Will whimpers, stumbling after him and almost collapses against Hannibal when they reach the bed. He's starting to sweat already, and he doesn't know if it's because the moon is close, or because being around his pack has made the animal in him comfortable and louder, or if it's something Hannibal is doing so uniquely, but his spine is hot and molten metal down the ridge of his back and it feels like he's going to burn from the core.

Hannibal pulls him to a stop at the end of the bed, and digs his thumb under Will's jaw, turning his head and then forcing Will's shoulders to follow, so he's standing facing the bed, Hannibal's warmth pressed up to his back. He shivers, fingers curling with the instinct to crawl onto the bed, but Hannibal's hand is still tight along his neck, keeping him upright.

He gasps, eyes closing when he hears Hannibal let out a low growl. Hannibal's nose presses to his curling hair, breathes deep like he's scenting Will, making sure he smells right, smells like an animal, like a good mate. Instinctive truths Will recognizes dimly. He whines and bares the back of his neck, and Hannibal rewards him with a kiss there.

"Good boy," he says. Will whimpers, knees shaking, he has to lock them to stay upright. The way his body sags makes Hannibal's hand tighten on his throat, and Hannibal curls his other hand around Will's hip, too far away from where he needs the touch most. "Shh, stay still for me, darling. Just like that."

Will bares his teeth, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. It feels like he's trying to keep steady ground in an earthquake. His eyes burn like they did in the fight with Randall. His heart is flying against the back of his ribs, dashing itself to death behind bone. His hands are shaking, and he's so hard he's sure if Hannibal touched him right now, it would be enough to finish him. And they've barely gotten started.

"Please," he whispers.

Hannibal growls again, digs his nails around the jut of Will's hipbone. He takes his other hand from Will's neck, slides it up into his hair, curls his fingers and tugs him back so Will's head rests against his shoulder. He's gentle with his coercion, and Will is pliant. He turns his head when Hannibal makes him, and Hannibal catches his open, panting mouth in a deep kiss.

Will moans, losing the fight with his own control, and reaches back to grab Hannibal's thighs, arching back and forcing his mate tighter against him. Hannibal's heat is stifling, and he smells and tastes so Goddamn good, Will could happily lap at his mate's mouth, lick him clean of sweat, drink any sound Hannibal could offer him.

The sound Hannibal lets out is low, pleased at how eager Will is for him. He moves his hands, takes both of Will's wrists and holds them in front of him, tight together like Will is waiting to be bound. He curls his fingers so his nails dig in, slides them up the backs of Will's wrists, up his forearms, his biceps, until he reaches Will's shoulders. He wraps his hands in Will's shirt and tugs it, so it rises from his waist, up over his back, and Will bows his head so Hannibal can loop it over and it settles in the crooks of his elbows. He shivers in the comparative chill of the room, goose bumps rising on his neck and arms.

He feels Hannibal smile against his neck, kiss the pink skin there in another reward. One of his hands takes the shirt, wraps and twists it until it pulls tight, and he fits Will's hands through the hole for the head, twists it again, repeats the action, until Will's wrists are crudely and tightly bound in front of him.

He turns Will around, cups his face and kisses him. His cheeks are flushed, now, pink sitting high on his sharp cheekbones. Will whines, licking Hannibal's lower lip in supplication.

Hannibal smiles, and gently pushes at Will's hips. "Sit," he says, and Will collapses obediently. He doesn't know if he should be offended at being ordered around like a dog, but a part of him – a big part, that's howling and panting and shivering with need – likes it. The same kind of heat he felt wearing the muzzle is burning the backs of his eyes.

Hannibal steps forward and Will spreads his knees, his wrists falling to rest in his lap as Hannibal stands between his thighs. He tugs on Will's hair, forcing him to look up, his chest and neck exposed. Hannibal's other hand curls under his chin, deceptively soft, his forefinger hooked like he's admiring Will's posture, his display.

Will whines, tries to swallow the sound, can't. He bites his lower lip when Hannibal smiles wide enough to show his teeth. From this position, Will can touch more of his mate and he does, lifting his bound hands until they settle on the waistband of Hannibal's suit pants, palms flattening and pressing on the bulge of his cock. He smells amazing, like fresh meat and fine wine, and Will's mouth starts to water as Hannibal stares at him, like he's waiting for Will to move, to bite.

Will won't. He can be good.

But he's not patient.

"Please?" he whispers, and leans in, the tug on his hair turning sharp. He slides his hands down Hannibal's cock, freeing up room for his face, and mouths at the outline of Hannibal's cock through his clothes. It should embarrass him – it would, before he turned – to appear so wanton, but this is what his mate does to him. When his Alpha calls, all Will can do is answer.

Hannibal growls, swallowing loud enough Will can hear it. "Is that what you want?" he asks, touching his thumb to Will's jaw, pressing into the hollow of his cheek when Will moans. "You want to taste me?"

Will nods, helpless. "I want to devour you," he replies, honestly. If Hannibal wants him to be vocal about what he wants, well, Will can damn well be vocal.

Hannibal smiles. Then, he pulls back, and Will whimpers at the loss. His fingers curl and he arches forward, only stopping when Hannibal fixes him with an expectant look, one eyebrow raised. Will shivers, and sits back.

 _Stay_.

Hannibal smiles, and starts to undress. He goes slowly – not to titillate, Will is sure, but to test Will's resolve. His dedication to obedience. Will watches ravenously, sharp eyes raking over Hannibal's hands – God, those hands, capable of grace and deadly force in equal measure. He imagines Hannibal wrapping his hands around Will's throat, squeezing until it bruises. He calls to mind the feeling of Hannibal's nails in his thighs, in his back, clawing at him like he can see the animal under Will's skin and wants to draw it out.

Hannibal undoes the buttons at the cuffs of his shirt, exposes his wrists, and unbuttons the front of his shirt, exposing the white undershirt beneath, covering his stomach and chest but not so much that Will cannot see the top of his chest hair. He shrugs the shirt off and Will is glad he's sitting. Had he been standing, he might have collapsed at the sight of Hannibal's shoulders. He imagines sinking his teeth into the strong muscle, following the line of tendons and veins with his tongue. His mouth has gone dry again.

Hannibal untucks his undershirt and pulls it over his head and Will trembles. He wants to press his nose over Hannibal's heart, suck deep, blooming marks on his skin, map out the shape of his ribs and lay a roadmap of kisses from his collarbone to his hip for Will's eyes to follow.

He unbuckles his belt and Will growls, upper lip curling back at the sound of it sliding through the loops, then coming free. Hannibal raises his eyebrows when he does it, meeting Will's eyes. Will can't help himself. He sits forward, elbows on his knees, like he's about to lunge for his mate. He's so close to getting what he wants, _seeing_ what he wants.

He wonders, absently, if this is something Alana told Hannibal to do, or this is something Hannibal figured out for himself. Will's possessiveness has been dormant for some time – it's easy not to feel jealous when he knows how much Hannibal loves him, how totally devoted he is – but this is different. Hannibal isn't straying, he's denying Will his right, as mate and wolf, to touch and uncover his mate himself.

Will's eyes rake down Hannibal's exposed chest, then back up, meeting his eyes. "Come here," he says, and he doesn't quite recognize the sound of his own voice. It's like there's a second one speaking through him, and this one has claws and golden eyes.

Hannibal blinks, and a visible tremor runs down him. Will smiles, off-kilter, and lifts his chin when Hannibal approaches him, the belt falling to the floor.

"There you are," he murmurs, low and pleased. He puts his hands in Will's hair and tugs him to his feet and Will lunges for him, wraps his fingers in the belt loops in the front of Hannibal's suit pants and hauls him close, chases his mouth and catches him, kissing him harshly. Hannibal growls, rakes the nails of his free hand down Will's back and Will's knees go weak.

He purrs when Hannibal gentles his hands, nuzzles Hannibal's spit-slick mouth, licks his lip and bites down. "Here I am," he replies, equally low. "What're you going to do about it?"

Hannibal hums, fingers tracing idly down the claw marks on Will's chest. They don't hurt when touched, and they're healing over quickly. Apparently, werewolf recovery remains quick, even without a fever.

He touches the bite on Will's neck, the one he placed the morning before Will went to the compound, and he rests his forehead against Will's.

Then, he turns Will again, shoves him onto his knees on the bed, and Will goes, growling and falling to his elbows, bound hands knotted tightly in the sheets. He arches his back when Hannibal rakes his nails down, finds the edge of his slacks. He doesn't bother with the button and zip, but simply yanks them down and Will moans, shivering when he feels the clothing protest. It doesn't rip, Hannibal wouldn't be so impolite, but the threat is there – the idea is there – and Will's stomach tenses, and abruptly plummets.

Hannibal bares him completely, tugs his slacks and underwear off until Will is exposed to the cool air. He steps between Will's knees, rakes his nails up the outside of Will's thighs and Will moans again, biting down on his shirt to stifle the sound.

Hannibal's hands flatten on Will's ass, spreading him out, and Will gasps when he hears Hannibal spit onto his hole. It's a dirty, obscene sound, and Will clenches up, arching his hips when Hannibal's finger slides over the slick, smearing it around, before he pushes inside. Will is tight and dry, it stings, but he wants it. He wants it so badly it doesn't feel like he can see properly – everything feels red, and hot, and he whines as Hannibal pushes his finger in, curling down. Hannibal's other hand slides between his legs and Will spreads his knees farther, bows his chest to the bed, whimpering when Hannibal wraps a dry palm around his cock, stroking slowly.

" _Fuck_ ," he growls, teeth bared around the wad of material in his mouth. He tugs at it, hears it rip, and shudders when Hannibal pulls his finger back, sinking in again. He frees his mouth, so he can say; "Hannibal, _please_."

"You're doing very well, darling," Hannibal murmurs, and leans down to kiss Will's spine, licks a stripe through the sweat on his skin. Will whimpers, clenching his eyes tightly shut as Hannibal's hand twists at the head of his cock. He's close already, speared in place and kept so willing and needy in his mate's capable hands. He can hear Hannibal's pride in his voice – selfish, possessive pride, at owning such a powerful creature, rendering him to a panting, desperate mess with just a touch.

Then, Hannibal pulls his finger out, wraps his free hand in Will's hair, and yanks his head to one side. He crawls onto the bed between Will's knees, covers him with his weight, and Will yelps when Hannibal bites down on his shoulder abruptly. It hurts, Hannibal's teeth are sharp, his jaw strong, and Will flinches from it but can't move far. Hannibal hobbles him, keeps him in place, bites down harder.

" _Yes_ ," he growls, purring when Hannibal sucks a dark mark onto his flesh. Hannibal pulls back, drags his nose to Will's nape, and Will bows his head, inviting, shivering when Hannibal bites him again. His fingers curl and his cock twitches in Hannibal's hand. "Fuck, gonna end this too soon if you keep doing that."

It's meant as a warning, but Hannibal must take it as encouragement, because he bites Will again. Harshly, like he's rabid as well. He sinks his teeth into Will's neck and bites, and clenches his jaws, and Will groans when his skin gives under the pressure, parting for his mate's teeth.

He freezes, instinctively panicking at the idea of Hannibal tasting his blood, before he remembers that Margot said it was safe. As soon as the realization hits, he moans, shoulders rolling and hips arching forward, fucking through Hannibal's hand as it tightens, quickens its pace. Hannibal's tongue licks hotly over the bite he left and Will trembles.

"Please," he says. He's so close. If Hannibal bites him again -.

He does.

Will howls, his back pressed tight to Hannibal's chest as his orgasm hits him like a blow to the head. It's powerful, something desperate in him suddenly unwinding, exploding outwards. He bares his teeth, bites down on his own forearm as he finishes, spills sticky-wet over Hannibal's fingers and the sheets under his knees.

He comes back to awareness with the sound of Hannibal sucking another wet, tender mark to his shoulder, Hannibal's growl low and rumbling in his ear. He turns his head, seeking his mate, and Hannibal takes his hand from Will's cock, smears his seed on Will's jaw and neck, turns him and kisses him, rutting against Will like he's buried inside of Will, like he's chasing his own orgasm. Will moans, too breathless to kiss properly, panting as Hannibal's blood-soaked tongue licks into his mouth, curls behind his teeth.

"Please," he gasps, heavy with a need still unsatisfied. "Mount me."

Hannibal growls, and tears himself away from Will's heat, getting to his feet and retrieving the lubricant from the bedside table. He returns to Will immediately. His patience seems to have run out, for he wets his fingers and tosses the bottle away, spreads Will out and sinks two fingers into him. Will hisses, body clenching around the sudden intrusion, but Hannibal is in no mood to be denied and Will is in no position to deny him.

He's sensitive, burning hot, and he bows his head, feels blood dripping down his arm and staining his t-shirt, sees it staining the bed. Tastes it in his mouth.

He turns his head, catches the smear of red on Hannibal's lips. His eyes burn, his oversensitive body trembling under Hannibal's hands. He wants to reach back, but can't with how his hands are bound, so he licks his lips and whines, loudly. Hannibal's eyes snap to his, dark, and he lifts his chin.

Will shivers, unable to hold his mate's gaze. He ducks his head, whining softly as Hannibal's fingers slide out of him, smear lubricant up his spine. Will's mouth is too full of blood to smell him properly, his nose stings at the scent of his own arousal, the slick, dirty smear of his own seed on his jaw.

Hannibal takes him by the hair, lifts Will onto his wrists, and leans down, nuzzling Will's exposed neck. Will shivers, closing his eyes, turns his head to lick Hannibal's jaw. Hannibal is still wearing his suit pants, his erection rutting harshly against Will's exposed skin. He wants to reach back, wants to knot his fingers in his mate's hair, claw at his spine, he wants to _bite_. Even with his recent orgasm, he's frantic with it, like he'll never rest until he has Hannibal's blood in his teeth.

But it's like Hannibal knows. He nuzzles Will's sweaty hair and breathes out harshly. "You're so beautiful," he murmurs. Will's eyelids flutter, the hand in hair tightens and tugs, and he bites his lower lip as he hears the rustle of Hannibal negotiating the rest of his clothes with his free hand. He whines, bowing down, eager for it. "I'll admit, even though I believe you won't need it, the idea of binding you, of keeping you restrained after the full moon is an enticing one."

Will nods, growling low. "I want it," he replies. He doesn't know what it'll feel like, but imagines it like the few evenings he spent at Hannibal's house during their courtship period, too exhausted to drive home just yet. The night Hannibal pulled him into his lap and kissed him, fingers touching him gentle and slow until Will was spent. The night Will came to his house and collapsed into bed while Hannibal cooked, and when he was called down for dinner, could do little more than spread his legs and convince Hannibal to indulge in a much more intimate feast beforehand.

Hannibal trembles behind him, and flattens his hand over Will's bitten neck. Will closes his eyes, shoulders tense as Hannibal shoves his clothes down to his knees and Will arches against the pressure of Hannibal's cockhead against his hole. Hannibal growls, bares his teeth, and pushes inside him. Will's body parts eagerly, lax from his orgasm, sensitive and shaking finely. He moans when Hannibal doesn't hesitate – thrusts deeply until their thighs and hips connect. His fingers curl in the bedsheets and Hannibal spreads his free hand along Will's heaving ribs, nails digging in.

"Will," Hannibal groans, breathes his name like it holds the answer to every devoted prayer. Will whines, clenching up around Hannibal's cock when his mate withdraws, relaxing when Hannibal pushes back in. It's slow – for now, Will knows they both have the capacity for great violence and frantic need, and he can feel how desperately Hannibal wants to move. Can smell it, capsaicin and cinnamon sharp in the air.

"Please," Will growls, turns his head and nuzzles Hannibal's temple, licks his jaw when Hannibal rears up, meets him, his head settling over Will's like they're two wolves play-wrestling. It makes something in Will perk up, sit at attention. It's like he's scent-marking Will, spreading his sweat across Will's cheek and into his hair so other wolves know he's been claimed. It makes him purr.

Hannibal's rhythm builds, the sounds of their bodies colliding filling the air in harmony to Will's soft growls and moans, Hannibal's breath escaping him with every thrust like it's being punched out of him. Will's body parts graciously, eager for his mate, and he loves the way Hannibal keeps nuzzling him, biting at every part of Will he can reach – his bruised shoulders, his bitten neck, his ear, his jaw when Will turns and begs for a kiss. Will is shaking, stomach warm and heart racing. It's too soon for him to get fully hard again but the way Hannibal fucks him feels so good, perfect like it always is, and Hannibal seems to be a direct wire for the energy Will feels in his spine, amplifying it, sparks of pleasure and excitement curling between his fingers and ricocheting behind his ribs.

Hannibal growls, and bites him again, and Will whimpers. His hips jerk, thighs tensing, when Hannibal's cock brushes over that sensitive spot inside of him. It's molten, liquid heat.

Then, Hannibal pulls out of him. Will gasps, shocked by the sudden lack of pressure at his back. Before he can muster more than a sharp, needy whine, Hannibal's hands flatten on his hips and roll him onto his back. Hannibal takes his bound hands and loops them behind his neck, rears up over Will, forcing him to arch and spread his legs, and Hannibal pushes back inside.

Hannibal kisses him and Will moans, digging his nails into his mate's strong shoulders, harsh enough to draw fine beads of blood under them. The scent of Hannibal's blood is sharp and Will growls, bares his teeth as Hannibal's rhythm gains speed, momentum, crashing their bodies together like falling rocks. Hannibal's hands fit behind his knees, forcing him to curl up – he's sweating, slick and warm in Will's arms, and Will knows his scent will be so deeply etched into Will, and Will's into him in turn, that nothing will quite be rid of it.

Hannibal dips his head, finds Will's bared neck and sucks another pink mark at the sweaty hollow of his throat. Will whimpers, his teeth itching, mouth wet.

"Can I?" he asks, when Hannibal pulls back and meets his eyes. They're almost black in the shadows of the room, the predator in Hannibal called to the front, evident in the snarl of his mouth, the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands are getting steadily tighter on Will's thighs as he nears his orgasm.

Hannibal's mouth twitches, like he wants to smile but can't, too close to properly control himself. "Ask me properly," he demands.

Will gasps, breath hitching, heart stuttering in his chest. "Alpha," he whispers, and licks at Hannibal's mouth when Hannibal snarls and kisses him again, like he can't help himself. "Alpha, _please_. Can I?"

Hannibal growls, shoving his forehead tightly to Will's. His rhythm stutters and he lets go with one hand, pressing his palm flat to Will's throat. "Not yet," he says, and Will whines, eyelids fluttering as Hannibal slams deeply into him, pulls back, does it again. He's close, Will can tell from the clench of his jaw and the way his eyes can't stay open. "Not _yet_."

"Please," Will begs, wrapping his fingers in his mate's hair. "I'll be good." He kisses Hannibal's flushed cheek, purrs softly when Hannibal's rhythm stutters, he growls and ruts his hips against Will's ass, closer, _closer_. "Please, Alpha -."

"Now," Hannibal says, and releases Will's neck. Will surges up immediately, finds the place in Hannibal's neck where his pulse thrums hotly. He parts his jaws, licks over the tense tendon, and bites down. His sharp teeth split Hannibal's skin immediately, blood rushes into his mouth like water gushing from a burst pipe, and Hannibal goes still.

He growls, wrapping his hand in Will's hair, and curls over him like he's trying to physically plant Will into the mattress, a seed of his own design that will flourish and blossom under his care. Will moans, closing his eyes. He swallows another mouthful of his mate's blood and withdraws his teeth before he can do any serious damage, licks over the sluggishly leaking bite as Hannibal shudders, cock twitching as he empties into Will's spasming, burning-hot body.

Will rolls his wrists, frees his hand from the bindings of his ripped shirt, and digs his nails into Hannibal's back to keep him there. "Stay," he begs, whispers it against his mate's sweaty neck. "Stay with me."

"I'm here," Hannibal says. His voice is hoarse and rough, like he's been screaming for Will for hours. It's a feeling Will understands intimately. He nuzzles the bite mark he left, sweat coating his jaws as he licks his mate clean. Hannibal's stomach tenses, his hips jerk like he's chasing the last shreds of pleasure he can get from Will. Hannibal snarls, the sound like Will's name and a curse all wrapped into one.

Then, his shoulders abruptly go lax, and Will allows him to withdraw, whimpering when Hannibal pulls out of him. Hannibal tugs him upright, his fingers gently rubbing Will's pink wrists, and takes his shirt from them, tossing the ruined garment to one side.

He takes Will by the hair and kisses him, deeply, hand flat on Will's neck as Will trembles and shares the taste of his blood.

When they part, Will can barely breathe. He can't remember the last time he was so Goddamn _satisfied_. He's purring, and he can't stop, doesn't want to stop. Hannibal kisses him again, gentler this time as they recover their breath, and he smiles.

"How was that?" he asks, mild-mannered but smug as well.

Will huffs, rolling his eyes. "I'm in no mood to inflate your ego."

Hannibal laughs, and Will rolls onto his side, smiling when Hannibal follows suit, so they're facing each other. He pets a hand through Will's sweaty hair, pushing it back from his face. His eyes fall to the bite mark on Will's neck, and Will licks his lips, doing the same. His fingers brush over Hannibal's mark, smile widening when his mate shivers.

Hannibal gathers him close and Will goes, happily, curling up tight against Hannibal's chest. "The full moon is coming," he says lowly, and Will shivers. "How are you feeling?"

"Honestly? Excited," Will replies. He licks his lips, catches remnants of Hannibal's blood behind his teeth, and purrs, nuzzling Hannibal's collarbone. "I want to run. I want to play with Margot. I want to know what it feels like."

"Good," Hannibal says, his lips on Will's forehead. Will sighs, closing his eyes. "I'm excited, too."

"Oh?" Will asks, his voice a low hum. He's exhausted, sated to the bone, not long for the waking world.

"Yes," Hannibal replies, his fingers still gently petting Will's hair from his nape, nails scratching feather-light on his flushed skin. "I can think of no greater pleasure than seeing you happy."

Will smiles, but can't think of anything smart to say in reply, so he settles for nuzzling closer, and slings an arm over Hannibal's waist. "I think it's going to be fun."

 

 

The next day, the workers come in and finish the kennel. It's a sturdy structure. Will moves in Winston, Addy, and Buster, and then goes to Randall's vet clinic.

Jesse is there, and he tenses, wide-eyed when Will walks in. Will smiles, razor-sharp, and lifts his chin as he approaches the counter. There's no one in the clinic today – the sign said they were closed.

"We're leaving," Jesse says before he can speak. "I swear. We're going to go West."

"I believe you," Will says gently. He knows his orders will be obeyed, if the wolves value their lives. Jesse nods, licking his lips, and ducks his head, showing his neck. "I wanted to talk to you about something else."

Jesse frowns, his dark eyes snapping to Will's, then away.

"I have dogs," Will says. "You know that." Jesse nods, swallowing. "Do you want to take them?"

Jesse's frown deepens. He tilts his head to one side. "Why?"

"I know they'll be taken care of, with you," Will replies. He takes out Randall's journal from his bag and sets it on the counter. "I think they would benefit from having a pack."

Jesse swallows, licks his lips. His fingers curl, and he nods. "Molly would like that," he says, hesitantly, as though expecting some kind of trap.

Will smiles. "Good," he replies. Jesse's shoulders relax, and he straightens up. "I've already moved the ones I intend to keep. The rest are yours. They're good animals, and well-behaved." He pauses. "I expect them to be treated well."

"They will be," Jesse promises, nodding again. "I swear."

Will smiles. "Come to my house this afternoon," he says. "I'll tell you their names, and give you their beds and toys." He pauses, and sighs when Jesse doesn't move or answer. "I really never wanted this to happen. Maybe, if you hadn't turned me, you could have continued on under the radar and we'd have never been the wiser. But what's done is done."

"You won the fight," Jesse says quietly. "You don't have to justify yourself to me."

Will tilts his head to one side. He supposes, as Alpha, he doesn't.

Still; "I'll see you soon, Jesse," he says, and Jesse nods. Will leaves the vet clinic and goes to Hannibal's car, which is idling on the curb.

"That was fast," Hannibal says mildly, shifting the car into drive and pulling away.

Will sighs, and rolls his window down so he can feel the wind on his face. "There are perks to being the one in charge," he says lightly.

Hannibal smiles, and flattens his hand on Will's thigh. Will settles under his touch, and purrs while Hannibal drives them home.

 

 

He puts his house up for sale, moves the rest of his clothes into Hannibal's car, and transfers his remaining animals to Jesse's care. Jesse brings Molly and they make the exchange with solemn nods and lowered eyes. Will thinks it strange, but not unpleasant, to be deferred to like that.

 

 

The day before the full moon, Will devours everything edible – and, to Hannibal's horror, several pounds of meat yet uncooked. He plays with his dogs in the back garden and it's like they can feel his anticipation, his joy. They roll and play with him like they're all puppies, until Will's cheeks ache with his smile and he's covered in dirt and grass.

That night, Hannibal packs them two sets of clothes, loads them into the car, and Will leaves enough food for his dogs and makes sure the fence is secure, before he gets in. He's fluttery with anticipation, hardly able to sit still, a wriggling mess of excitement as Hannibal drives out of his parking lot and onto the highway.

"I feel like I'm going to burst," Will says, scratching absently at his thighs through his jeans.

Hannibal smiles, and takes Will's hand in his own, bringing his knuckles up to kiss them. "Margot and Alana are expecting us," he says, and Will grins, overjoyed at the notion of seeing them again. He wants to wrestle, to play, to _run_. "Margot told me that sunset will take place around nine, and the moon will be visible soon after. A cloudless sky awaits us."

Will shivers, and reaches into the bag at his feet. He pulls out his ring and lifts it to his mouth, gnawing on it so that he doesn't shriek with excitement. This is what he imagines stimulants feel like, the illegal kind. He feels like he could conquer the world.

He looks over at Hannibal, and smiles when Hannibal meets his eyes for a brief moment. "I can't wait," he says. Now that he knows he'll be aware, he's no longer afraid. He trusts Margot, and even if he does behave as more of an animal than a man, he knows she'll be there to keep his focus and attention on the run, on playing, so he's not a danger to anyone. With his hesitance and worry gone, Will feels elated.

Hannibal smiles, and kisses his hand again, before he lets Will go so Will can clutch at his ring with both hands, chewing on the plastic edges to soothe the ache in his teeth. The bite mark on Hannibal's neck stands out starkly, raw and red, and Will purrs at the sight of it.

The sun is setting, tinging the sky orange and pink.

"You know what would be really fun?" he asks after a moment of companionable silence.

"Tell me."

"Hunting together."

Hannibal sucks in a breath, his fingers tightening on the wheel. Will has never expressed interest in hunting with him, in sharing their kill with red hands and bright eyes. But Will is sure, when the wolf in him is strongest, he would delight in following his mate, tracking with him, attacking on command. The perfect hunting partner.

"You want to hunt with me?" Hannibal breathes, like he can't quite believe it. His voice is soft.

Will nods, humming. "Yes," he replies, plainly. Openly.

"I…would like that as well," Hannibal murmurs. Will can smell how much he'd like that.

His smile widens, and he settles in his seat, purring at the thought of prowling through the darkness, Hannibal at his side, while they conquer this world together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *vibrates* the full moon is tomorrow guys! I'm not sure I'll have an in-time update but I wanted you all to know because I am so excited :D


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for werewolf-shift levels of body horror. it's not explicit or written as traumatic but it might be uncomfortable for folks.

They reach Margot's estate just before eight, driving through the grand open gates that remind Will of Regency England, and up the long driveway where there sits a large mansion made of stone, brightly lit in every window with warm, golden light. Candlelight. The stables sit a little ways off, down the hill, a black block amidst the green fields.

Hannibal parks the car in front of the mansion and they both get out. Will shifts his weight, nervous and jittery and so full of energy he thinks he could sprint down to the stables and back before Hannibal has their bags up on the top step.

Hannibal comes to his side and holds Will's bag out, and he takes it, anxiously gnawing on his ring as they climb the stairs. As they approach, the door opens, and Alana steps out with a welcoming smile.

Margot leaps out from behind her, and Will laughs, dropping his bag and ring and accepting her lunge into his arms. They go tumbling, rolling to the edge of the stairs, and Margot lets out a happy yip, biting at his hair. Will growls, playfully, parting his jaws to pretend he's going to bite her back as she snuffles at his neck.

She yelps when he rolls them, shoving his weight on her shoulders to keep her down. She's wearing a loose, overly-large black t-shirt that's soft against his cheek, and black leggings, her feet bare. It's the most casual he's ever seen her dress. She's not wearing any make-up, and her scent is crisp and wild, intermingled with Alana's perfume and the combination reminds Will of fresh strawberries and mown grass.

She purrs, rubbing her cheek against his knee, and their heads both snap up when Alana clicks her tongue like Will might when calling for his dogs. Margot wriggles out from under Will and they both go like they've been yanked on a leash – Margot to Alana, Will to Hannibal.

Hannibal is smiling, his expression fond at seeing Will in play. Will smiles, and tucks his shoulder under his mate's arm, nosing at his clean-shaven jaw.

"Are you guys hungry?" Alana asks.

"Starving," Will says, even though he ate his weight in food less than an hour ago. He knows from Randall's journal to expect such a thing. Even as he says it, the scents of warm bread and roast beef waft outside from the mansion, and his stomach rumbles loudly.

Margot grins, toothily, her cheeks bulging, and she steps away from Alana and takes both of Will's hands in her own. "Come on," she says, and turns, sprinting back into the house. Will follows her immediately, skidding on the marble floors when she skirts abruptly left, and heads towards the scent of the food. Will laughs, his chest tight and warm with joyful energy. He hears Hannibal and Alana speaking in muted tones as they follow at a much slower pace, and then Margot leads him down a short hallway and pushes open a set of double doors that swing inward, revealing the kitchen.

There are three platters piled high with fresh, cooked meat, and a station at the end that consists entirely of fluffy bread rolls and jars of jelly and honey. Will's stomach rumbles and he and Margot approach the first platter. They don't bother with plates, or silverware, merely picking at the piles with their bare hands and stuffing their mouths, juice slick on their lips and jaws as they eat.

The doors open again, and Will turns, smiling around a mouthful of beef as he sees Hannibal and Alana enter. Hannibal is without their bags and Will's ring, and he assumes they have been allotted a guest room to serve out the post-moon heat, as Margot called it. He shivers, and hopes they're far enough away from each other that they're not overheard.

Hannibal gives him a small smile, carding a hand through Will's hair, before he circles the table with Alana and they stand on the other side of it. Margot and Will keep eating, too hungry and energetic to bother with conversation.

"Hannibal," Alana says after a moment, "have you ever ridden a horse?"

Will looks up to see Hannibal nodding, absently, his eyes on Will as he eats. Will blushes, but doesn't stop. "It's been a long time," he replies, "but I learned how during my time in France. Why do you ask?"

Alana smiles. "Usually I go riding with Margot, while she runs," she replies. "If you want to, you can join us. All of Margot's horses are used to wolves, they won't spook."

Hannibal smiles, slow and wide. "I think that would be delightful," he says.

Margot purrs, clapping her hands together. A spackle of grease flies from her fingers and lands on Will's cheek, and he wipes his face clean with the back of his wrist absently, shoving another roll of roast beef into his mouth. It's delicious, not quite as rich and good as Hannibal's choice of diet, but the animal in him is heartily pleased at the offering.

He ambles down the line, towards the bread rolls, and takes one, dipping it into one of the jars of dark jelly and taking a huge bite. It's grape-flavored, overly-sweet, and he swallows without chewing, scooping more into the dip his bite made and taking another.

Alana shifts her weight, and puts her hand on Hannibal's shoulder. "We should go get them ready, then," she says. Will whines, swallowing the mouthful of food that's large enough to make his throat ache with protest. He doesn't like the idea of being apart from his mate, but he's hungry.

Hannibal meets his eyes. He looks to Alana and gives her a nod of concession, and her hand falls away to give Hannibal room to approach Will. Will wipes at his mouth again, swallowing, his tongue running over his teeth as Hannibal comes to his side and pets a hand through his hair.

"I'll see you soon, Will," he says quietly. Will bites his lower lip, whining again. He wants to curl his hands in Hannibal's clothes, but his fingers are dirty and he knows Hannibal wouldn't appreciate grease and sugar smeared in the fabric. Instead, he turns his head and nuzzles his mate's wrist, licking over the skin exposed by the rise of his sleeve.

Hannibal smiles, and kisses his forehead, before he lets Will go and follows Alana out of the room. Will watches him leave, unable to stop himself whining at the sight of his mate's retreating back. His fingers curl.

Margot notices. She scampers over to Will and wraps her arms around him from behind. Without heels, she's much shorter than him, and her teeth dig into his tender shoulder in a playful nip. "They won't be gone long," she tells him, hugging him tight enough around his chest that it's hard to breathe. Or maybe that's just from being away from Hannibal.

"Does it get better?" he asks around the tight knot of longing in his stomach.

She nods, pressing her cheek to his shoulder. "It's worse around the full moon," she tells him. "But the longer you're together, the firmer your bond grows, the less it'll hurt when he's not there." She pauses. "It doesn't go away completely, though."

"Should I be feeling different? Hannibal told me you said we'll be changing soon. I don't feel different."

She laughs, and lets him go, grabbing a bread roll and shoving almost half of it into her mouth, cheeks bulging. "You need to stop thinking of your wolf as something separate from you," she says kindly. "It's like…I don't know. Like changing clothes. Like you've just bought a new outfit and want to try it on."

Will nods. "Does it hurt?"

She shrugs one shoulder. "I don't know if it feels different for turned people," she replies honestly. "It sounds worse than it is."

Will frowns, not understanding.

"I mean, you're gonna be moving joints around, shedding skin, popping stuff in and out of place. It sounds horrific, honestly, but at the end of it I feel like I've just gotten a deep-tissue massage."

Will smiles. That sounds much more pleasant.

Her head snaps up, and her nostrils flare. She sets her bread roll down. "It's time," she says, and takes Will's hand. Will shoves the last of the bread roll into his mouth as she leads him out of the kitchen, down another hallway to an exit door. They emerge behind the house, the flat fields spreading out below them. Will can see Alana's white dress amidst the darkness as she and Hannibal disappear into the stables.

Above them, the sky is a burning orange on the horizon, a deep and dark blue making the bright yellow-white of the full moon stand out. Will shivers, staring at it as though entranced. He can see, in his periphery, Margot doing the same.

Then, she shivers, and pulls her shirt over her head, revealing her pale skin. Will averts his gaze for the sake of her modesty and she laughs, shoving playfully at him. "Come on," she says. "You won't shred your clothes, but it's about to get messy. Get naked, Graham."

He blushes, and rolls his eyes when she shoves at him again. He pulls his shirt over his head and pushes his sweatpants and underwear down his ankles, kicking off his shoes and the rest of his clothes in one action. The air is chill, but Will is warm, burning hot.

He looks at her, watching as she pulls her hair tie from its braid, throwing it on her pile of clothes, and shakes her hair out so it falls down her shoulders. She grins at him, toothy and wide, and holds out her hand.

Will takes it. Margot blinks, slowly, and her smile softens.

"It's been a long time since I had anyone to run with," she says quietly. "I'm really excited. Even though I know this isn't what you want, not what you asked for, I'm really…" She stops, trying to search for the right word. "Happy," she finally lands on.

Will nods. "I feel the same," he says. "And you've made this so much easier. I was terrified of what was happening to me, scared that I'd have to be chained up and locked away, or I'd hurt someone."

Her smile widens again, and she squeezes his hand, before letting him go. "I'm glad I could help," she says.

Will rolls his shoulders, his chest feeling tight with anticipation. "Now what?" he asks.

She presses her lips together, and looks up. "Look at the moon," she says. Will does. "Isn't it beautiful?" He nods. "Just keep looking. Relax. Your wolf knows what to do."

Will swallows, frowning. To simply let himself change – well, it feels like stepping into the mind of a killer. Like he's reading a crime scene and reconstructing the emotions and the tale behind it. He closes his eyes, and the golden pendulum swings in front of his vision.

 _Thwum_.

He gasps, a sudden heat spreading out down his spine, like someone has touched him with burning hands, trying to tear him apart. He falls to his hands and knees, and it's like the light of the moon touches him as though with a physical hand. It cups his jaw, makes his teeth itch. He snarls, skin suddenly feeling too tight, and rakes his claws at the back of his neck, both surprised and wholly unsurprised when his skin gives as though he is made of nothing more than sand.

Blood runs down his arms, and he hears his spine cracking sharply, extending as his legs curl up, and snap backwards to form hindlegs. He rolls onto his back, needing to use the coarse grass to help him shed his skin like a snake. Beside him, Margot is doing something similar, picking at her legs and thighs and pulling her skin free as her body changes shape.

Will hisses as his shoulders flatten, roll forward and then keep going, forming the shape of a dog. His wrists stretch, roll and pop, and between his fingers, claws extend instead of growing from his nails like he expected them to, so for a brief moment he has nine fingers and one thumb on each hand.

He gnaws at his arms, and the flesh of his biceps feels like it melts, encasing the new set of ligaments and tendons. His bones don't change size, he doesn't feel anything shrinking or growing in that way. He bites down on his forearm, tearing skin off, and spits out a wad of bloody flesh, marveling at the appearance of fur underneath it.

He rolls onto his stomach again, rubbing his face against the dirt. His ears flatten and become one with his neck as new ones, like a wolf's, form on top of his head. His hair grows from his head and curls down his shoulders like he's being dipped in liquid gold. Every part of him feels hot, too-tight where his human skin still clings.

He stretches, growling as his elbows settle into place, his thumbs tuck under his palms and become encased in the soft, thick pads of a dog's feet. He stretches his arms out in front of him and his hips arch up, ankles shifting upwards to give him another joint, backwards-facing knees settling as he arches and his spine cracks and settles into place.

It doesn't hurt, like Margot said, but it definitely doesn't sound pleasant.

The most foreign sensation is the growth of his tail. His spine arches further and he gasps as he feels the excess flesh from his thighs form a harsh bulge at the base of his spine, and then that skin gives way too and Will feels soft, wet strands of fur brushing his thighs.

He gasps, opening his eyes and finding he cannot stand higher than waist-height, the world stretching out in front of him in sudden, bright technicolor. The grass looks so _green_ , despite the darkness. The scents of the world tease his nose, compelling him to run and investigate. He parts his jaws, panting, tongue hanging out, and he licks his nose to try and wet it, and snorts, rubbing his muzzle against the inside of his wrist.

Margot's yip draws his attention, and Will turns to her, feels his ears perk up on top of his head. Her tail is wagging wildly, and she grins at him, open-mouthed. She's a timber wolf-grey, mottled brown around her ears and feet. Will grins back at her, a growl rumbling in his chest. She trots up to him and nips at his ear, tugging him towards the side of the mansion, and he follows, nose low to the ground to pick up the scents of food, grass, dirt, and horses. She leads him to a single mirror, weathered from many months outside, ivy and grass overgrown on the edges.

He blinks, seeing his reflection. He's a black wolf, like Jesse, his eyes a bright golden color. His fur is thick around his head and neck, smooths out along his flanks but stays in a thick ridge along his back. He has tufts of black fur around his feet and his tail is thick, hanging behind him.

She barks at him, tail still wagging wildly, and bites at his shoulder, pulling a stray piece of human skin away. Will huffs, and shakes himself off like he's ridding himself of water, pleased when more pieces and slick blood falls away like water off a duck's back, leaving him clean and fluffy like hair air-drying in humid weather.

Margot grins, and lowers her forelegs, hindquarters arched high, tail curled. Will knows that posture – she wants to play. He grins at her, the full moon bringing him elation unlike he's ever felt before. He thinks he could easily conquer the world with this kind of energy.

He lunges for her, the movements coming naturally like he's been doing it all his life, and she jumps back, growling playfully. She leaps for him, barreling into his side, and bites down at the thick hair around his neck. She doesn't do it hard enough to hurt, Will barely feels the pressure of her teeth, and he snaps at her, feeling his entire body wriggle with how hard his tail is wagging.

Margot goes still and her head snaps to one side, ears perked forward when the doors to the stables open. Will huffs, licking his jaws, and looks to see Alana and Hannibal emerge from the stables astride their mounts. Alana's horse is a tall mare, a bay, with dark legs and a black mane and tail, the horse's brown coat highlighting the whiteness of her dress. She looks like the moon.

Beside her, illuminated by the soft white glow and in absolutely brilliant color, is Hannibal. His horse is black, a slim-legged but regal beast with a naturally arching neck, like a show horse. He sits on the animal easily, lax and certain as he is in all things. His face shines in the moonlight, his lighter hair almost glows in Will's vision. If Alana is the moon, then he is the sun. Will whines, tail wagging fiercely enough that he wonders how it doesn't fall off.

He sees Alana smile, and then she cups her hands to her face, and howls. Will's chest goes tight abruptly, dancing to one side when he hears it. It calls to him, in the way Molly's voice hadn't – the female Alpha of the pack, summoning the rest of her kin.

The howl bubbles out of his chest before he can stop it. He throws his head back, rearing up on his hind legs as it escapes him, shattering the relative silence of the field. Margot laughs, and howls as well, her voice higher, like a child's calling their friends out to play.

Alana smiles, lowers her hands, and tightens her grip on the reins. She turns her horse and digs her heels into its flanks and the animal tosses its head, snorting, and starts to run away from the mansion, out across the fields and in front of them at the bottom of the hill. Hannibal follows easily, and Will's entire being jumps at the need to run.

Margot is already ahead of him – she takes off like a bullet down the hill, and Will follows. His claws tear through the grass and he would have thought running on four legs would take getting used to, but it's as natural as breathing, as easy as falling asleep and rising again. He sprints down the hill, keeps pace with Margot but can't catch up – she's fast, and has been a wolf much longer than him.

But they fall into line beside the horses, and Will grins at Hannibal as Hannibal slows his mount, smiling down at Will as the horse dances to a halt, head tossing but not wild, not afraid. Alana stops as well, circling Margot like she's a wolf herself. Her laughter is infectious, and Will barks, once, chest low to the ground in invitation to play.

Margot jumps up, puts her claws gently on the horse's saddle so she doesn't hurt the animal, and Alana smiles, reaching down to pet a hand between her ears. "Hi, baby," she says fondly, and Margot's tail swishes wildly from side to side.

Will licks his jaws, ears perked up as he lifts his gaze to Hannibal's. His nostrils flare, taking in the scent of his mate, the sweetness of his joy over the musty, pleasant stink of the horses.

"How does it feel, darling?" he asks.

Will can't speak, but there aren't words. He huffs and stands up, mimicking Margot, and curls his forelegs so his wrists rest over Hannibal's shoe, scuffing the leather with his grass-stained paws. Hannibal reaches down, folds his fingers under Will's chin, and meets his eyes.

"What a beautiful beast you are," he breathes. Will licks his nose, whining and closing his eyes when Hannibal pets over his soft cheek. "I'll confess, all I can think about is taking you hunting with me, now." He scratches behind Will's ear and Will's jaws part, panting heavily against his mate's leg. He wishes he could speak, if only to tell Hannibal how much he wants that, too.

Then he opens his eyes, and he knows Hannibal understands.

Margot tackles him abruptly, and they go rolling. Alana laughs, and Margot bites at Will's tail hard enough to make him yelp, before she takes off in the opposite direction, to the other end of the field.

Will growls, and gives chase. He hears Alana and Hannibal galloping behind them.

 

 

Will can't remember having this much fun in his life. Hannibal and Alana retire the horses around midnight, and Will and Margot chase and kill a rabbit to entertain themselves while their mates take care of the horses. Will has to admit, he starts to get sleepy at just past two in the morning. Running for so long and expending so much energy takes it out of him, and although Margot doesn't seem to be dragging as much as he is, she understands, and stops sprinting away from him or forcing him to play and roll with her.

She rests her head on top of Will's and Will purrs, tail wagging lethargically, and he nuzzles under her chin, licks her neck. She smiles at him and gently nudges his shoulder, subtly guiding him back towards the house. The moon is well past its apex and while the sun will not rise for another hour at least, Will doesn't feel the moon's light as heat anymore. It's fading, and with it, Will's wolf is getting tired and ready to rest.

Margot leads him through a dog door in the back of the mansion, to what looks like a repurposed kitchen add-on. There are showerheads along all of the walls, and the floor is tile. Their claws click along it and Margot goes to the back of the room and presses her nose to a switch. Immediately warm water barrels out of the showerheads, beating down on their shoulders and backs and Will growls, stretching his forelegs and then his hindlegs out as he feels the joints begin to snap.

Under the pressure of the shower, he curls up and closes his eyes, only opening them when he becomes aware of the sensation of the water hitting skin instead of fur. He watches as huge clumps of it run off of him and Margot, falling out in thick piles of grey and black, and run to a hole in the back of the room by the dog door entrance.

He yawns, his jaw popping and muzzle shortening, and he rubs at his face, feeling his human fingers stretching from the wolf claws. The change back is without flare, and Will shivers as he uncurls, rubbing his back against the harsh tile floor, and stretches his arms above his head, sighing when his spine shortens and shifts back into place. His tail peels off like it's a stuck-on joint, and Will winces at the feeling as he watches it follow the water, breaking into pieces as it joins the rest of their fur and flesh. Beside him, Margot is washing her hair, humming a tune absently and purring softly in her chest.

Will sighs, shaking himself clean so that he's human again, and stands up. Or, he tries to. Lethargy sweeps through him like a tidal wave and he stays on his knees, yawning again and rubbing at his jaws.

Margot smiles at him. She looks exhausted as well, dark circles under her bright eyes and her smile soft and lopsided. "We have about an hour before we're completely useless," she says, and Will nods. She stands, washing the lather from her hair, and switches the water off. She helps Will to his feet and hands him a towel to dry himself off as best he can manage.

Will huffs, shaking out his hair and his body like he did the first shower he took after his fever. It feels much less ridiculous to do it now, especially when he watches Margot do the same thing.

There's a door leading to the rest of the house, and it opens, and Will flushes, wrapping his towel around his waist quickly. Margot laughs, and winks at him, when Alana appears in the doorway, Hannibal at her shoulder. Margot isn't as quick to cover herself as Will is, but she does wrap her towel around herself after another moment of wringing her hair dry.

Alana smiles, and holds her hand out to Margot. Margot walks forward and puts her cheek in Alana's palm. "Hi, baby," she says, just as soft and fond as she did when they were wolves. She kisses Margot's forehead and steps to one side to give Hannibal room to enter. Will walks much more slowly, feet dragging and entire body heavy with exhaustion, like someone is trying to pull him through the floor. He collapses against Hannibal's chest, sighing and purring when Hannibal cards a hand through his hair and wrap his other arm under Will's, keeping him upright.

Hannibal kisses his temple, breathing in deeply, and Will shivers, and wonders what he smells like. He nuzzles Hannibal's exposed neck, purring with pleasure as his mate's warmth sinks into his bare skin. Hannibal smells incredible, like Earth and night air and fresh linen. Will licks over the bite mark he put on Hannibal's throat.

"I'll have a tray of food put out for you outside your room," Alana tells them. Will registers the implication absently, but when he does, he shivers again, heat curling up in his stomach. Because soon, Will won't be able to do much more than sleep and rut, desperate for his mate's touch but too tired to chase him or hunt for his own food.

Hannibal nods, cheek brushing Will's hair. "Thank you, Alana."

She smiles.

"You ladies have fun."

Margot laughs, her eyes bright. "And you," she replies, low and teasing. Alana rolls her eyes, and takes Margot's hands, leading them out of the room. Will only follows enough that they can close the door, and the antechamber is a dark and intimate space, humid and warm from their shower.

Hannibal tilts his chin up, kissing him chastely. "How are you feeling?" he asks.

Will sighs, pressing his lips together, and rests his forehead against Hannibal's. "Tired," he replies, honestly. He's not sure when the post-moon heat will hit him, only that it will. It feels like sitting outside and watching the sky change colors in preparation for sunrise. He's trembling with anticipation, a different kind now, that promises a bone-deep desperation and the knowledge that he will be with his mate, taken care of, and utterly satisfied by the end.

He pulls back, meets Hannibal's eyes, and smiles, touching his cheek with trembling fingers. Hannibal smiles, and kisses his wrist. "Take me to the room?" Will asks, soft and ready, and Hannibal nods, his fingers tightening in Will's hair.

"Of course, darling," he murmurs, and kisses Will once more. "Follow me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it! You guys got a good taste of what a post-moon heat will be like for Will and Hannibal so I'm just gonna leave it here, haha. I hope you guys enjoyed the ride! I loved writing this chapter, making Will actually //happy//, and I managed to keep a fic light-hearted for once! Go me!
> 
> For those wondering, since this is something I thought of, I headcanon that Mason is off somewhere being a dick in another state and left Margot to her own devices when she mated with Alana. Or, if you want, we can pretend that Mason is still a dick but now Margot has a pack, she and Will kill and eat him the next time the moon comes around :D (Hannibal of course provides the wine to go with it).
> 
> Well, that's it for now from me. Catch you guys in another fic! <3


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist doing a little post-moon heat chapter! This chapter features peudo-knotting kink, some bathing aftercare, and a lot of desperate!Will :D

Will closes his eyes, sighing heavily as Hannibal wraps a towel around him, happily snuggling into his mate's arms as he's led from the shower room, Margot with Alana as she and Hannibal lead their respective wolves to their rooms for the night. It's the third full moon he's shared with his pack, and he knows what to expect by now – feels, with a shiver of anticipation, the exhaustion and the heat building up in his stomach. The exposed slip of Hannibal's neck is a deep temptation, and he nuzzles and nips at tender skin as Hannibal leads him down a hall, Will stumbling on shaking legs and dragging feet, and opens the door to the guest room Alana and Margot gave them.

The room is small, but lavish, with a large nest-like bed set into the floor so that Will doesn't have to climb onto it. Exhaustion sweeps over him in earnest, now, and he sags with another sweet whine, pawing ungraciously at Hannibal's flanks. He smells of horse, and Alana's perfume, and Will huffs and licks over his neck, wanting to get at the taste of his mate.

Hannibal smiles, and leads him to the large bathtub that sits in a second room. Though Will showers after his change to help him shed the wolf pelt, his tail, his changed ears, Hannibal is still meticulous with cleaning him after. It's a ritual for them now, and Will lets himself be picked up and placed with reverence into the big tub, and sighs as Hannibal removes the towel, laying it down for him to step onto after, and guides him to his hands and knees.

He places a single, warm kiss to Will's sweaty hair, pets down his shivering flanks, and turns the water on. It's like when Will washes his dogs, but the water is warm, flushing down the side of the tub and pooling at his hands and knees. He smiles, bowing down to his elbows, rubbing his cheek through the water as Hannibal pets him, waiting for it to rise enough that Will can be cleaned.

His hands are warm and large, gentle on Will's skin as he wraps a hand through his hair, guiding him up onto his hands again. Will lets out a weak noise, his arms shaking as he makes them lock. There's a bottle of body wash and shampoo that Hannibal brought for their second moon, and left after, sitting within easy reach of the side of the tub. Hannibal crouches down, gives Will a warm smile, and cups his hand in the water, lifting it so it pools at the crown of Will's head, dripping down his hair and face.

He huffs, and resists the urge to shake himself dry. He does it in the shower, when they're at home and Hannibal isn't there to scold him, but the open space would be a lot harder to clean, and it would be rude of him to do it when he's too tired to clean up after himself.

Hannibal smiles, like he knows what Will's thinking, and slides to his knees on the towel, pouring a thick pool of shampoo into his hand, and then rubs both hands into Will's hair, working it into a thick lather. Will sighs, tilts his head, presses his cheek to the lip of the tub, and closes his eyes.

Hannibal lets out a quiet, pleased sound, undoubtedly watching Will's shaking muscles relax, his body settling as Hannibal bathes him. When the water is around the thickest part of his thighs, and his elbows, Hannibal turns off the water, quickly putting both hands back in Will's hair when he gives a quiet whimper.

"It's alright, darling," he whispers soothingly. "I'm here."

Will swallows, tries to nod. His fingers flex and he shivers, sighing when Hannibal wraps his hair in warm, strong fingers, working the shampoo through every strand, every lock. Hannibal slides his thumbs down the hair on Will's jaw, over his neck, smearing more shampoo, and then dips one hand in the water to test the warmth, his other hand sliding to Will's scruff and clamping down.

Will growls, but obeys the silent command, letting Hannibal force his head down so it's completely submerged. He combs through Will's hair quickly, until Will is rid of the shampoo, and lets him rise. Will gasps, hips arching, thighs tense, and he gives a tiny headshake and rubs at his jaw with one of his hands.

"Mm. Warm," he murmurs, and licks his palm.

Hannibal smiles, and kisses Will's hair. "Good," he purrs. After the full moon it takes Will a while to remember how to talk beyond soft whines and growls. He turns his head, nuzzling Hannibal's inner elbow, breathing in the scent of grass and wildness that lingers on his jacket sleeve. Hannibal bought clothing that was a little less expensive; things that he doesn't mind if Will gets wet, or bites, or claws at. He wears those when they visit Margot and Alana.

Hannibal rinses his hands again, and grabs the body wash, lathering it quickly before he spreads both hands, flat and wide, on Will's shoulders. Will collapses with a groan, the water just high enough that, on his elbows, he has to keep his chin raised to avoid it getting in his mouth. Hannibal smooths a hand up his neck, keeping him still, the other touching beneath Will's arms, over his red and aching chest. He pets down Will's flank, over his spine. Lingers, around his belly, and Will shivers, his gut tight and clenching, a deep hunger that has nothing to do with food rearing its head.

His cock hardens, dipping into the warm, silky looseness of the water, and he whimpers.

"Hannibal," he breathes, as Hannibal continues his course, and rubs two slick fingers between Will's legs. "Alpha, _please_."

Hannibal's fingers curl around the back of his neck, and he lets out a rough snarl of his own. "Patience, darling," he murmurs. He is meticulous in all things, and will not bend or break no matter how weak and needy Will gets. He is Alpha, the pinnacle of control, and Will loves that he can be as wild as he wants and not have to worry about anything.

He moans, turning his head and biting at Hannibal's sleeve as Hannibal's fingers brush over his hole, his hips lifted in invitation. As tired and relaxed as Will is, one of his fingers slips in easily, and Hannibal's touch turns, cleaning him out with thorough, precise strokes. Will's legs spread, hips rutting forward and back curling so he can fuck through the water, making it splash and swirl around his body in the tub.

"Alpha," he moans again, eyes closing, mouth full of fabric and teeth too sharp as Hannibal adds another finger. "Please, _please_."

Hannibal growls, his nails in Will's nape, and Will subsides with another whimper. "I am in control," he murmurs. "Not you."

Will shivers, the wolf in his head purring and pleased at the reminder, showing its belly as Will rocks his hips lazily through the water, his fists clenched until his knuckles turn white. He releases Hannibal's sleeve, gasps and groans as Hannibal presses deep into him, seeking out that sensitive place that lights Will up all over when it's touched.

He finds it easily, and Will jerks in the water, gives a quiet little cry as Hannibal fucks him with his fingers, and the warmth of the water is so nice, if loose, and he trembles as Hannibal touches him, thumb pressed to the slick stretch of skin behind Will's balls, pressing and pinching his prostate as Will starts to bear down.

He comes with a weak howl, shuddering and snapping his teeth together as Hannibal smiles, letting out a pleased rumble of his own. He slides his hand up to Will's hair and tightens his fingers, bends down and pulls his fingers out of Will as he kisses Will's flushed, damp cheek.

"Good boy," he purrs, and Will shivers, lips twitching in a smile, happy that his Alpha is pleased with him. The pride in Hannibal's voice is unmistakable, and Will's lashes flutter weakly as Hannibal cups his fingers in the soapy, soiled water, lifting it by the handful to rid Will's skin of soap, until he's bare and clean, flushed from the heat of the water.

He reaches down, draining the tub, and pulls Will upright. He helps Will crawl out of the tub and onto the towel, grabbing a second as Will shivers and drips, drying him off with tender, brisk motions. When he's done, he stands, and leads Will to the bed. Will crawls in with a grateful huff, burrowing into the thick blankets and the warm pillows. The floor is heated, meaning the bed is incredibly warm, and Will feels like a wolf buried in his den, content to wait out whatever storm might be lingering on the horizon in the heat and presence of his mate.

Hannibal sheds his clothes without flair, and climbs into the bed behind him, and Will gives a happy huff, wriggling back against him as Hannibal wraps one arm around Will's chest, his other folded and providing Will's cheek a pillow in the form of his bicep.

He nuzzles Will's wet hair, breathing in deeply, and Will rolls in his arms, pleased and purring when, without his clothes, Hannibal smells much more like himself. Will knows Margot and Alana don't come into this room, they don't send anyone in to clean it, so the air stinks solely of them, and Will tucks his nose to his mate's neck, purring loudly and unashamed as Hannibal smiles, petting down his back.

Will breathes out heavily, licks over Hannibal's steady, heavy pulse, and paws at his bared hips. "I want you," he murmurs. He's exhausted, trembling, but the heat in his belly hasn't abated in the slightest – no relief comes, not until Hannibal has his teeth in Will's neck and Will hears him finish.

Hannibal growls, his hand sliding to the back of Will's neck, thumb at his throat, and Will sighs, closing his eyes, baring his neck for his Alpha's teeth. Hannibal kisses him, where his blood rushes strongest, parts his lips and bites down savagely and Will moans, jerking. Despite the heat and need in his body, he can't fill again so quickly, but he ruts his soft cock against Hannibal's erection, shivering and clawing at him as Hannibal bites down.

"Please," he whispers, and Hannibal is big and warm as he rises, pushes Will onto his back and flattens himself over Will. Will's legs can't spread, because Hannibal straddles him, and he whines weakly, dragging his claws up Hannibal's flanks, smoothing along his chest, and bares his teeth as Hannibal bites him again, and pulls back so their eyes can meet.

He sees, in Hannibal's wide pupils, a reflection of the gold ring in his own that only shows up after the full moon, and the time Will fought Randall. It's his wolf, pawing at the borders sitting between their skin, and Hannibal shivers, lips parting and pink, eyes darting between each of Will's own.

He flattens his hand on Will's neck, rolls his hips with a low snarl, and touches the corner of Will's mouth with his thumb.

"Roll over, darling," he commands. "Show me what's mine."

Will groans, and obeys, Hannibal lifting up just enough so that he can slide to his belly and elbows, lifting as much as he can as his head drops down to expose his neck. Hannibal soon recognized and understood Will's wolf's need to be dominated, overcome and pinned beneath its Alpha – he doesn't talk to Will like that when the moon is thin, and weak, but now, with the feeling of dirt still lingering under his nails and his teeth too sharp in his mouth, Will aches for it.

Hannibal snarls again, and flattens his hands on Will's ass, spreading him wide, exposing him. "Good boy," he murmurs, and moves forward, Will's thighs pinned beneath his own, his leaking cockhead smearing over Will's stretched, slick hole. Will groans, and falls to his chest, reaching back to help him, hips lifted to entice. "Good," Hannibal purrs, and lets him go, trusting Will to keep himself open as one of his hands flattens wide over the nape of Will's neck, the other pressing in the center of his back to keep him down.

He shifts forward, and Will cries out, shuddering and spasming as Hannibal pushes inside him. His muscles part easily, lulled into submission under Hannibal's hands and weight and voice, and Hannibal snarls, leans down, bites hard on Will's shoulder where there is, now, an ever-present patchwork of bruises and marks from his teeth.

" _Yes_ ," he snarls, moves his hands so he can clutch at Hannibal's along the back of his neck, his other sliding up into Hannibal's sweat-damp hair and fisting tightly. Hannibal bites him again, licks a single, lingering drop of water from his shoulder, and wraps his hand around the front of Will's throat, squeezing from both sides.

"Oh, Will," he breathes, and in his voice is the same reverence, the same open adoration that Will feels whenever he touches his mate. "My sweet, beautiful boy." He pushes in deeper, until his hips connect with Will's ass in a slide so slick with sweat that Will moans. Their warm bed and the post-moon fever Will holds in his chest makes them flushed, warm to the bone, only made worse when they touch each other, when Hannibal mounts him like the Alpha creature he is.

Hannibal uses his grip on Will's neck to turn his face, leans down and kisses the corner of his open, gasping mouth, and Will whimpers, licking over his lips, showing his submission. Hannibal growls, bares his teeth, and bites Will's jaw, his hands tightening and hips rolling in another slow, shuddering thrust that makes Will writhe, aching, seeking more but unable to move.

"Please, Alpha," he whispers, his throat ragged from howling all night, made worse by the desire set deep into his skin. Wonders, absently, if Hannibal can feel it, can smell it like something wild. "Please, mount me."

"Don't worry, darling, I intend to," Hannibal purrs, and releases Will's nape, clinging to only his throat, his other hand braced wide on Will's back as he starts to fuck in earnest, his breathing heavy and grip tight on Will's neck. Will moans weakly, too tired now to move, to react, he can merely lay as a mess of twitching, sweaty flesh as his Alpha fucks him, uses his body as nature intended. He fucks over Will's prostate, making Will's flesh sing, and he gasps and whimpers against the pillows as Hannibal mounts him with a chorus of snarls.

He grips Hannibal's hand weakly, presses it tight to his throat, and whines when Hannibal bites his neck, going still, and shudders with another soft growl. There's new slick, now, leaking out of him, and Will tries to spread his legs, tries to lift his hips to take it deeper, but he can't – he's too tired, too out of it, and Hannibal is an unmovable weight, forcing him to keep still.

Hannibal releases him after a moment, letting Will breathe freely and licking over the mark on his neck. He sighs, nuzzling Will's wet, curling hair, but doesn't pull out of him – Will made it _very_ clear the first time he tried during a post-moon heat that he would not react well to it.

He flattens himself over Will instead, gently smothering him, tugging on the blankets around their bodies so that they're covered, only enough gap in them to allow them fresh air. The room stinks of them and Will sighs, purring happy and loud, and turns his head to lick over Hannibal's jaw.

Hannibal's arms wrap around him, and he smiles, lax and sated and heavy against Will's back. Will licks him again, turns just enough that his shoulder is pressed to the mattress, petting over his mate's face and neck.

Hannibal sighs, shifting his weight, and Will whimpers as his soft cock slides out of him. "No," he whines, pawing at Hannibal gracelessly. "Please, no. Alpha."

"Hush, darling," Hannibal murmurs, and kisses Will's sweaty neck, parts his teeth and bites to force Will's submission. One of his hands moves down, sinking between Will's thighs, and he pushes in with three fingers. Will shivers, sated at the fullness; even though he knows it's not his Alpha, it's enough to calm the frantic howling of his wolf that demands to be mounted.

Hannibal curls his fingers until they form a solid bulge inside him, tugging on his rim, and Will gasps, arching up, his eyes flying wide open as Hannibal smiles at him. "There we go," he purrs, and brushes his free hand through Will's hair. "Relax, my sweet boy."

Will swallows, licks his dry lips. Gasps as Hannibal's fingers press into him, and he feels sealed-up, plugged. It's a new sensation; Hannibal hasn't done that before, and his brow creases as he moans, wanting to work himself back onto it.

"I like that," he says, because Hannibal always insists that he tells him if Hannibal does something he doesn't like. When in heat, Will would do just about anything to get Hannibal inside him, and Will knows it's important to Hannibal that they communicate, that Will does not allow himself to simply be a slave to his nature – that he speaks up, if he can.

Hannibal's head tilts, and he hums softly, considering. He pushes in a little deeper, knuckles brushing Will's prostate, the way his fingers are curled spreads him wide, and Will gasps again, digs his nails into Hannibal's shoulders, and turns, showing as much of his neck as he can.

"I -. I like that," he says again, and whimpers when Hannibal pulls his fingers back, tugging on the inside of his rim, and fucks in again. He does it a few more times, as Will moans and writhes beneath him, and tilts his head.

Says, carefully; "Do you like being knotted, Will?"

"Oh, _God_." A roar echoes in his head, his wolf pawing at the ground and panting, salivating at the word – a _knot_. Hannibal is _knotting_ him. He nods his head frantically, dragging his nails over his own neck, his other hand wrapping tight in Hannibal's hair. His hips lift in a sudden surge of energy, thighs trembling as he sinks onto Hannibal's fingers, feels the stretch and flex of abused muscle going tight around him as he whimpers.

Hannibal smiles, eyes alight with pleasure and victory. "You should have said something, darling," he purrs, and pets through Will's hair.

"I didn't know," Will gasps. He paws at Hannibal desperately, moans as Hannibal fucks in with his fingers – his _knot_ – and rubs his knuckles harshly against Will's prostate. Will goes tense, stiff all over, his stomach sinking in and his lungs shattering in a loud cry as he comes again, clamping down on Hannibal's knot and spilling thick and warm over his belly, into the blankets. "Oh, _fuck_ , Hannibal, _fuck_ , please – please, keep going -."

"Oh, Will," Hannibal breathes, his nostrils flared wide as he watches Will pant and shiver through the aftershocks. He ruts his fingers in deeply, pulls them back, the slick of his own come making it easy as Will whimpers. "I don't think I have a choice – your body is so tight around me. I couldn't pull out if I wanted to."

"Oh fuck, _please_."

"Quiet, darling. I'm not going anywhere. Just relax and take it."

Will's head tips back, his body spasming in another great surge of pleasure, exhaustion sweeping through him as Hannibal gently works the knot of his fingers against Will's rim, his thumb rubbing tenderly at the edges of it, sending more sparks of heat and lightning up his spine. It feels like his orgasm lasts for hours, as he growls and shudders, too weak, after a moment, to do anything but lie there and let his body tremble.

Hannibal rises from him, cups Will's nape, and lifts him into a kiss. "I'm not finished with you yet, sweet boy," he snarls, and Will whimpers, parts his lips for Hannibal's kiss, licks over his teeth and tongue in broad, heavy swipes, no technique, no control left over him except whatever it takes to keep Hannibal kissing him.

Then, Hannibal pulls his fingers out, and spreads Will's thighs, rolling him onto his back. He fucks in with a snarl and Will moans, so sensitive, so sore, but desperate for his Alpha. Hannibal crushes them together, claws at Will's back, and Will parts his teeth and bites down on the single, raised scar Hannibal bears on his shoulder, low enough for clothes to hide it, but something he always offers to Will.

He bites into flesh a month-long healed, until his sharp teeth split skin, and he swallows a single large mouthful of Hannibal's pleasure-rich blood. Moans, and suckles at the wound as Hannibal fucks in and comes with another shudder, his hands tight on Will's hips to keep him still as he empties himself into Will for the second time.

Will sighs, sated beyond belief, so tired he can't keep his eyes open. He nuzzles Hannibal's bloody neck, doesn't even protest when Hannibal pulls out of him, and gathers him close in a cocoon of blankets, his arms wrapped tight around Will.

Will licks over his neck, again, again, until even his tongue can't do what he wants it to. He sags, breathless and fucked-out, and nuzzles Hannibal's sweaty collarbone as Hannibal pets through his hair.

"Do you think you can eat, darling?" Hannibal murmurs, kissing his forehead.

Will hums. "Sleep." It's slurred.

Hannibal smiles against his sweaty skin, clinging to him, tender and tight. "Of course," he whispers. Will knows he's tired too, staying up all night and then sating Will's physical needs. They will wake in maybe an hour, Will ravenous for anything Hannibal can give him, but he's warm and sated and content in his mate's arms, with Hannibal's blood in his teeth.

Hannibal cups his face with a gentle hand, lifts him just long enough for a single, chaste kiss. "Sleep, my love," he murmurs, and Will nods, lips twitching in a tired attempt at a smile, and eagerly obeys.


End file.
